


don't break character (let's hear it for america's sweethearts)

by nantes (titians)



Category: Actor RPF, Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Marriage of Convenience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:34:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2276865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titians/pseuds/nantes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marrying a rich person for their money is always a bad idea. On the other hand, marrying your famous actress friend for completely unromantic reasons before she's ever met your parents is a wonderful idea. Just ask Jonathan Toews. (Plus Ones are always welcome.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't break character (let's hear it for america's sweethearts)

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a _ferris bueller's day off_ AU but the more i thought about it (and waffled at lamb about it), the more i realised that the only parts of fbdo i care about are sloane and cameron's camaraderie and her amazing outfit. also, no matter what way we tried to swing it, lamb and i agreed that the only way the AU would work was if we had two ferrises (ferres. . . i don't know, what's the root etymological language thing?) tyler seguin and anthony mackie, which was super ridiculous, so the whole idea got scrapped as a fic. but cameron and sloane's friendship/relationship stuck with me and i realised i wanted to jonny to marry gemma in a 'hey, we're bros, let's get married!' way. cos jonny/gemma is straight up [this gifset](http://titians.tumblr.com/post/87286273009) to me.
> 
> if you don't wanna bother reading any more, just imagine sloane's fringe jacket marrying cameron's detroit wings jersey while _someday_ by the strokes plays and you've got this fic in one.

> You can't get on our level;  
>  You gonna need a space shuttle  
>  or a ladder that's forever!
> 
> ** L I L  W A Y N E **
> 
> " _Oh, darling, you will be good to me, won’t you? Because we’re going to have a strange life._ "
> 
> ** E R N E S T  H E M I N G W A Y **
> 
> **( 6 3 0 ) :**  Somewhere between the 30 minutes of cunnilingus, the improvised song about the Winter Olympics, and the super thoughtful shower beer... I knew I married the right guy!  
> 

 

They lose.

They fucking lose and a terrible wave of disappointment and humbleness comes over Jonny so hard he's scared he may throw up all over the ice. Seabs grabs him for a hug, his face rosy with his impending tears, and Jonny manages a few slaps of his hand on his back before he has to pull away. He can't even remember what excuse he shot him, he moves so quickly.

Kaner catches him right before the gate, dragging him in but Jonny doesn't fight back too hard. "It's fine," he says, once he's got Kaner pressed up against his chest and Kaner nods back, silent and solid and Jonny doesn't know what else to say, worried that if he tries anything else, tries to sound reassuring right now, he'll just get sick.

Next comes Sharpy, followed by Corey, Keith and another hug from Sharpy − all in all it takes him about an hour to leave the United Centre, to get into his car and drive home. As he drives, he hears his phone vibrating in the bottom his bag − his mom has definitely left him a few messages at this point, supporting words from her and his dad, but the more Jonny thinks about it, the more his shoulders hunch.

It feels like every set of traffic lights in the city is against him, red light after red light after red light.

By the time he gets home, Jonny is exhausted and dreading looking at his phone.

He goes to bed after shirking his suit off somewhere between his bedroom and the front door, shirt open and socks still on. When he wakes up, he still feels like he's been hit by a tonne of bricks, maybe a truck on top of that, and his phone is blinking with a load of unread texts and missed calls. Only three are from his parents, and there's a scattering of email notifications in the mix as well. Jonny groans, grumbling something into his pillow, and ignoring the fact it is after noon. With a sigh, he slides his thumb across the screen, unlocking it, and scrolls through everything.

Saader's message sits at the top, a tongue in cheek but oddly caring 'don't drown yourself cos we still need a captain next year'.

Next, there's a text from Gemma. Despite himself, despite everything else, Jonny feels himself smile at the sight of her name between his dad and Saader; it's fairly easy to slip his thumb across the screen, click twice and call her back.

There's a ding of a microwave behind her when she answers, a swift, "Are you still wallowing in self-pity or have you moved onto the 'we are going to do better next year!' phase? Cos I need to know which version of my 'I watched the whole game and I'm sorry how it went for you' speech to go with − yes, there are two and I have practiced both in the mirror."

Jonny laughs, softly, closing his eyes and letting her words wash over him. It's easy to picture her doing practicing, actually, talking to herself as she walks around the kitchen, maybe talking to Christopher like he's Jonny. It's oddly soothing.

He opens them again and goes with, "You watched the game?"

"My sister and I did- well, _I_ did. She had six beers and passed out on my couch, but I managed to stay up for it." Gemma takes a breath and the line fills with static. The static tells him, "I'm sorry."

"It's ok," he replies. It doesn't feel like he's lying. "You're right − we're gonna do better next year."

"You better."

Jonny laughs.

Gemma puts on her fake serious tone to tell him, "I mean it. You had just won a Stanley Cup when we met last year and I am only going to stay in this relationship if you keep winning it. I can't be friends with losers."

Again, Jonny laughs, scoffing out the last of it to say, "Really? _You_ can't be friends with losers? Aren't you friends with One Direction?"

"Ok, first of all, One Direction are very cool. Just ask any teenage girl you meet. And secondly, I am really only friends with one of them and have only hung out with two of them." She puts a little triumphant humming noise at the end of her sentence like 'there, how you like them apples?' and for the third time since calling her, Gemma gets Jonny to laugh.

He says, "Well, I haven't hung out with any of them."

She returns, "We've already clarified you're a loser." Gemma coughs and Jonny wets his mouth, licks at the corner of his lips with his tongue, unsure of what to say next. She means it in jest, obviously, but the longer he sits with it, replays the word over in his head, the more he starts to agree with it. Then, Gemma says, "You're not really. I saw the game, it was- uh. It was-"

"Yeah," he agrees.

"Yeah."

She breathes out slowly through her nose, considering, and Jonny shuts his eyes, listening to her. She hums something, half a tune but not really, and everything starts to tilt towards awkward territory, but Jonny has nothing to fill the silence with. He knows Gemma will get there, she always does during a lull in their phone conversations, and he's too- too tired and too sore from the loss to be any good at conversation holding right now. From her end, there's the clatter of plates, maybe the sound of cutlery, then another breath and Gemma asking, "So, what are you going to do with your summer now?"

Jonny shrugs.

Then realises she couldn't see that − maybe she got the rustle of the duvet at his shoulder but that still isn't an answer. He gives her, "I'm not sure yet. I've got a lot of free time ahead of me, I could do anything."

She says, "Yeah."

"I could learn a new language, or how to fly a plane. I could even visit you."

He means to say it as a flippant, 'hey, look I made a joke' line but as soon as it's out there, Jonny realises he sorta means it. He _could_ book a flight to London and go and visit Gemma for a while; he's got time between now and the convention. And, since he's a big loser − as they have covered in this conversation more than once − his mom probably doesn't have anything _too_ important lined up for him to do in Winnipeg yet. Ignoring the nearly-thirty seconds of time passed between then and now, Jonny tacks on the end, "If you wanted."

Gemma coughs, just a bit, and comes back with, "I mean- if you wanted to come to London, I could be here to hang out with. You know. For a couple of days."

"I could even stay with you," Jonny tried. He's probably pushing, more than one person in his life has told him previous to this he has a habit of latching onto an idea and running with it, pushing it on other people without negotiating it first, but he also knows that very _very_ few people can make Gemma Arterton do anything she doesn't want to do.

She laughs. Unexpected and bright, she laughs, but it isn't a 'no' and Jonny smiles at the noise. "You tell me the dates and I'll meet you at the airport."

 

 

+

 

 

He calls his mom to tell her he's planning on going to London and when she asks, "How are you feeling?" it takes Jonny a minute to remember, a brief second before he goes, "Oh, fuck, yeah," then immediately apologises from swearing down the phone at his own mother, then, "I'm fine. I'm going to London."

"Oh?"

"Getting out of Chicago for a while, I think it could do me some good. Clear my head."

His mom hums thoughtfully and Jonny waits for her to argue for Winnipeg, throw her home cooking and hanging out with his dad at him as another option but it doesn't come. He lets out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding in when she offers, "You should visit the Tate while you're there."

 

 

+

 

 

In the end, Jonny's flight gets into Heathrow Airport forty minutes after its meant to. Other than that, it was a fine flight − minus the six minutes of the small baby somewhere behind Jonny bawling, but kids are kids and Jonny totally sympathised with the poor thing since his ears get all fucked up with air pressure too − but Gemma is still standing there with a cup of coffee for him and a sympathetic smile on her face.

"How long you been waiting?" he asks, accepting both the coffee and the short hug she offers him, slipping his backpack from his shoulder and swatting his hand away before he can argue for it back.

She shrugs, settling the twist in the backpack's strap before taking a step forwards, "A while. I ate four donuts while I was here," she states, gesturing over Jonny's shoulder. He jerks his head and eyes the place, wondering if he wants four donuts himself because now that Gemma has said it, that sounds like a great idea. "They weren't great but I had fuck all else to do."

Jonny smiles.

Gemma tells him, "I like your Disney villain facial hair."

He wrinkles his nose at her but lets it go, just hip checks her as they're waiting in line at the ticket machine, making her laugh and the two teenagers in front of her turn around. They recognise her, but not Jonny as he gets handed an iPhone in a duck egg blue rubber case and asked if he'll take a photo − he agrees with a soft 'sure' and revels a little in the anonymity of the moment. People in London don't really know who the fuck he is, with or without facial hair, and Jonny breathes out slowly, handing the phone back to the two girls with, "Here you go," as he decides this is gonna be a good trip.

"Stop smiling like that," Gemma orders, not looking at him as she slots two pound coins into the machine, but there's a quirk of a smile on her mouth and Jonny hip checks her again, more gently this time.

On the drive back to hers, Jonny tries to remember the way but gets distracted by the comfortable rumble of the engine and the warmth of the leather seat underneath him. He must doze off because one minute they're passing something that looks vaguely familiar − something that was probably on the front of one of his mom's travel magazines when their cover story was London, Jonny remembers a few of those being scattered around the living room table when he was growing up − and the next, Gemma has shut off the engine and is gently shaking him awake outside her house.

The front door is yellow.

"C'mon, we're here," she says, Jonny blinking at her as he unfolds his arms and reaches for his seat buckle.

There's a grey tabby cat on the doorstep, ignoring them both while he washes his paw, and Gemma lets him in before she lets them in, turning to Jonny to inform him, "That's Christopher." Jonny nods but stays quiet, suddenly a lot more tired after his nap than he was getting off the flight. He has heard about Christopher before but had previously pictured him fatter and longer.

Gemma leaves him in the hall to go and retrieve his suitcase from the car, placing his backpack at his feet and telling him to make himself at home as she passes by. Jonny doesn't move anywhere but the hall, kicking off his shoes because his momma raised him right and then turning around to meet Christopher's eye as he sits, judgementally staring at Jonny from the middle of the stairs. Jonny says, "Hi," and all it does is make the cat look at him even more critically, like 'oh god what _has_ she brought home this time?'. Jonny frowns, a little hurt, and turns away.

When Gemma comes back in, using her elbow to barge through the door backwards and grumbling at the suitcase wheel as it gets caught on the lip of the door, Jonny laughs.

"Oh, you can fuck off too," she says, snippily.

At least Jonny knows where Christopher gets it from.

 

 

+

 

 

The first evening they don't do much. Gemma makes lasagne and Jonny potters around the spare room, half unpacking and half snooping, until he gets called down to eat. Afterwards, Jonny insists he does the washing up since Gemma cooked − "It's my house, of course I'll cook." "We could have ordered in." "Then we would have argued about who got to pay." − and she stands there, leaning the curve of her butt on the edge of the counter, and asking him what he wants to do while he's here.

He says the Tate first, because that's what his mom told him to see.

"Modern or just Britain?"

Jonny says, "I didn't know there was more than one."

Gemma offers, "We can go to both."

And Jonny agrees that that's fair, drying off the last fork and putting it in the drawer with the rest of the cutlery.

He ends up falling asleep on the couch, arm awkwardly balanced on Gemma's shoulder while she's watching television, so he wakes up with a crick in his neck and a crust of dried spit at the corner of his mouth, a pool of his drool settled on the grey cotton of Gemma's cardigan. He tries to apologise but ends up coughing, which gets a soft laugh out of Gemma before she suggests, "I think you should go to bed."

Jonny goes, passing Christopher on the way through the hall.

The next morning, he wakes up confused. The room is unfamiliar and he feels tired all the way down to his bones, and it takes him a few seconds to remember that, yes, this is the spare room in Gemma's house, he is in London, everything is fine.

He gets downstairs and finds Gemma fully dressed and holding a cup of tea. Staring down at his bare feet and sweatpants, Jonny scratches at his stomach above the waistband and wonders if he can make it back up the stairs to get dressed before she notices him. Obviously, he moves too slowly, because Gemma turns around with a sad, half-frown on her face and sighs, "It's only cereal and toast from breakfast I'm afraid, since I forgot to buy anything fun to eat on your first morning here. What the fuck was I doing in Tesco's yesterday? I'm sorry."

It's a lot to process, especially when her question doesn't sound all that rhetorical. "Do you have coffee?" he goes for, hoping it's somewhere in the middle of what she wants.

With a smile, Gemma replies, "Yeah. I hope Nespresso's ok." She pauses, looking concerned for a moment. "Actually, I hope it's ok at all − no one's ever tried it. I was drunk when Tom and I thought it would be a good idea to buy it." Again, she stops, this time reaching for a press to her left and opening the door with flourish. Jonny blinks, somewhat impressed. "I do, however," she continues, "have every single flavour and variety of coffee they make, so have at it."

Jonny doesn't break the machine and Gemma is a completely useless help despite the fact she's the one who owns it; he gets a cup of coffee out of it and they sit down at the table, Christopher padding passed them on his way to the back door, stroking his tail off of Jonny's legs as he goes. As she sips her tea and Jonny pretty much inhales his coffee, they agree to go to the Tate Britain before lunch, then eat at this good place Gemma knows − her exact words, "I know this good place we can eat." − and then the Tate Modern after lunch, so Jonny can call his mom before dinner and say 'yes, Maman, I went to Tate like you suggested, both of them in fact'. But that plan goes out the window when they find themselves standing in South Kensington tube station, arguing over the fact Jonny can't read tube maps correctly and now they're completely across the river from where they want to be and, fantastic, Gemma has started laughing.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she insists, all rushed out on one breathe. "I'm not laughing at you."

"Yes, you are," Jonny counters, but his tone isn't as clipped as it could be. He could easily argue back that London isn't his city, that Gemma actually lives there and should know which trains go where, but as she starts up another round of giggles with her mouth behind her hand, Jonny sort of sees the funny side of the situation and lets himself crack a smile with her.

"It's not even that funny," she states around a laugh, both her hands now covering her face, "it's just your face."

Which completely negates her previous 'I'm not laughing at you' statement since, yes, she's completely laughing at him now, her shoulders bouncing up and down with it, and all Jonny can do is laugh with her, while trying to steer her to a less crowded area with a hand on her waist.

"Alright," he coaxes, the pair of them now at the bottom of the stairs. "Get it all out, that's fine."

She snorts, tells him to 'sound more Canadian, Toews' but stops shortly afterwards.

Trapping her in against him with an arm around her shoulders, Jonny pulls her into a sort of hug with him, and tells her, "Glad you got that outta your system."

"Don't worry," she chirps, breathe warm against him, "I'll definitely find more reasons to laugh at your face."

They stand there for another second or two.

Gemma's the first one to move. "C'mon," she urges, not really trying to shrug him off but stepping out of Jonny's grip all the same, "we should move before this ends up on YouTube and you're labelled as a mysterious brunette."

Jonny trumpets out a noise of disgust through his nose.

"Excuse you," he intones, "someone could recognise me."

Gemma laughs again, already three steps ahead of him on the stairs. "In South Kensington? I don't fucking think so."

They stumble across the Science Museum by happy accident, but Jonny lets Gemma have it when she makes a 'tada!' arm movement and beams at him in front of the main doors, the skin around her eyes crinkling with it and her freckles bright in the sunlight. Jonny hasn't heard anything about the Science Museum − not that he's really heard anything beyond 'the Tate is a gallery' about where they meant to be headed − but he follows Gemma in with a roll of his eye and a quick 'right, go on then'. He spends two hours learning a lot about the Universe and space travel, as well as (possibly too much information about) a mummified, seven toed cat although Gemma insists, "No, the mummified man has seven toes."

"No, the man was pregnant," he returns, as they stand elbow to elbow in front of the cabinet containing half the brain of Charles Babbage. According to the placard in front of Jonny, during the 19th century, the brains of 'great men' were removed before burial so that they could be studied, in the hope of finding out where their greatness came from.

"You're wrong. The pregnant man is in another section."

Jonny frowns. The brain sits in front of him looking grey and disgusting and even though he's quite hungry now, Jonny's not sure he could actually stomach anything after looking at it. "Are you sure?" he asks, turning to face Gemma, who is bent over, trying to read some very tiny, somewhat faded pieces of paper in front of her.

She hums affirmatively, then explains, "Hannah was here with her boyfriend a few weeks ago − apparently you can discuss baby names with him."

Jonny doesn't look so sure.

"The cat definitely had seven toes," he says.

Gemma sighs but doesn't press on. It doesn't really feel like a win, not when Jonny looks at her face and see the slight frown tugging at the corner of her mouth. But bringing it up again would just dissolve the whole conversation into another argument and Jonny's already been laughed out of one of those today, thank you very much, Arterton, so he shuts up and heads for the exit.

Naturally, Gemma has to stop in the gift shop. "I have to buy Mum a magnet," she says, and Jonny wanders off to look at the pencils and novelty erasers.

"C'mon, Byron's this way," Gemma says, once they're outside.

The sun stings Jonny's eyes, his sunglasses buried somewhere in his bag, and by the time he locates them, Gemma already has her own pair on and is half way up the street. He jogs up to her, elbowing her in the flank accidentally but it gets her attention and Jonny uses this to his advantage. "Nice of you to wait for me."

Even behind the dark of her glasses, Jonny knows that she rolls her eyes at him.

"You caught up."

 

 

+

 

 

Luke pushes into Jonny's space with two beers and a grin on his face. It's dark in the here, and the blue-to-pink-purple-to-blue-again lights of the club make Luke's face kinda sinister looking. "I was wondering when she was going to bring you out with us," he says, nudging further against Jonny as a girl trying to squeeze by them both shove him accidentally; Jonny catches the beer Luke offers him with a smile of his own, and shrugs his shoulders. "We've all been dying to meet the famous Canadian hockey player Gem's been keeping all to herself and now you're here."

Jonny doesn't really know what to do with it, to be honest. He has no idea what to do with the fact Luke calls her 'Gem' not Gemma, nor how to handle the fact she's spoken about him to her friends. Or even what to do with Luke's accent which sounds sometimes like he's trying to sound like everyone else, like Nick and Gemma and Greg, but also like he's from somewhere. Jonny can't place it − he's generally useless with accents, he has to admit − but he ignores it in place of the fact he is getting free booze out of this conversation, tipping the neck of his bottle off Luke's and telling him, "I'm too tall to hide."

Luke laughs and Jonny sets his head on his shoulders awkwardly, realising that perhaps this isn't the best circle to have made that joke in.

Considering Luke is the smallest and is only an inch smaller than Jonny, while Nick is about the same − more if Jonny takes his hair into account − and Greg towers almost a foot above Gemma currently. Thankfully, Luke doesn't say anything about it, just gives Jonny an 'ay' and goes still and quiet beside him.

Jonny goes back to doing what he was before, and watches Gemma chatting with Nick and Pixie.

 

 

+

 

 

"Are you having a good time?" Gemma asks, suddenly beside him. Jonny has to take a second to fully focus on her face, his vision unable to handle how close she is after a. all the drinks he has had and b. the amount of time he has spent staring at the blonde over at the bar with her friends. He must frown while doing it or something because Gemma's face turns a little concerned, worried almost.

Before she can say anything else, Jonny comes out with, "I'm having a great time, yes, I'm great. Your friends are great too." He hopes it sounds as honest as he means it.

Gemma's face softens, whatever way the words came out of his mouth, and she smiles. "You sure? You looked kinda bored before I came over; you've been staring at that blonde for a while."

"I'm good, I'm good, I'm good," he insists, repeating it twice more just to make sure it's properly emphasised.

She doesn't look convinced. "Really? You don't have to stay here, you know. If you want to go and talk to her, that's cool."

Jonny shakes his head. Then immediately regrets it.

"Don't wanna."

It makes him sound like a petulant child but that's just how it is. Gemma snorts out a laugh through her nose and Jonny wrinkles his back at her, wondering how she got it to make that noise. He could ask but doesn't. Same way he could go over and talk to the blonde at the bar. She seems cute, but she's also far away and Jonny is here − Jonny is here and that's it. When Gemma turned to him during dinner, practically yelling at him, "Nick's playing the Firehouse tonight, we should go," Jonny didn't really know what that meant, but she seemed excited and now, here they are, all her friends are really nice and keep buying him drinks and Jonny is great.

He's already told her that, so he doesn't bother with it again.

Ok, maybe he does because she nods and he closes his mouth and- yep, definitely just said something there without meaning to.

"Honestly," he says, fully in control this time, "I'm glad I'm here. I'm having a good time and I'm in London. I'm not stuck in Chicago or at home thinking about the Cup I didn't win."

Jonny stops. Fuck. The Cup. He hasn't thought about the Cup in two days, which feels like forever after spending two weeks replaying the Blackhawks' loss over and over in his head and thinking about how they could do better. Even getting on the plane, Jonny had told himself 'this will be good, it'll take my mind off everything', but he hadn't thought it would be that much. God, Gemma's good.

Gemma's hand cups his cheek gently as she says, "Hey, you ok? You still with me?"

He smiles. Because yeah, he's with her. And that's why it's good. Offhandedly, he tells her, "I think I'm drunk."

"But you're ok, yeah?"

He hums and closes his eyes, turning his face into her palm before she drops it away. "We'll go soon."

_Soon_ turns out to be ninety minutes later, after Jonny has been dared to do a tray of shots with Tamsin, who turns up out of the crowd. She's tall and blonde and Jonny has to stare at her for more than a minute to work out if she's the blonde from earlier at the bar; she turns out not to be, and she puts away her ten shots before Jonny has even reached shot six. He feels sick, but warm and happy, letting himself get pulled out through the crowd towards the main door after everyone has done the 'do we have everything, we are about to leave, seriously make sure you have everything with you!' check around him.

Gemma's ring is surprisingly cold against his skin and Jonny moves his thumb to stroke along the metal band.

She stops, mainly because everyone around them stops. Flashbulbs are going off everywhere, so bright and hard Jonny has to squint against them, bending down towards Gemma's height in an attempt to block them out. She isn't a great shield until he drops his face into the curve of her shoulder, Jonny mumbling, "Thanks," as they continue on through everyone to a taxi with Nick and Luke already sitting in it.

"Everyone alright?" Nick asks, sounding chipper for a guy who has been awake for nearly twenty four hours.

Jonny thins his eyes and looks at him for a second, but quickly gets too tired to keep his head up, returning to his earlier spot of burying his face against Gemma's shoulder.

They get back to Gemma's and there's a slight fuss over money; Gemma goes into her purse to pay but Jonny, who realises he hasn't actually paid for anything at all tonight, attempts to push her out of the way and throw some money back in at Luke and Nick in the back seat. "Stop, it's fine," she groans, all but shoving Jonny at her front door − it's still yellow − out of the way. The taxi pulls off and Jonny frowns at the paint in front of him.

With a hand against the small of his back to steady herself, her other hand dealing with keys and locks and whatever the fuck else Gemma needs to open her front door, she apologies, "Sorry. But I was paying."

Jonny opens his mouth to say something his dad always says about how buts cancel out sorrys but now Gemma has the front door open and the house is quiet and yes, Jonny would like to go to bed now, please and thank you.

The only problem in the stairs.

And Jonny's fucking shoulders, which seem too large to fit right now, constantly bumping against the pictures in frames Gemma has along the wall. He takes another step and a white frame knocks against his shoulder. He turns to frown at it, like 'excuse me, I am coming through here' but stops when he sees what the photo is.

Behind him, Gemma's hands press flat against his back, trying to get him to move. But Jonny is bigger and wider than her in all ways, so there's no chance of that happening this side of the next millennium.

"Hey, hey, hey, look," he says, jabbing at the glass picture front, leaving a streaky fingerprint across the surface.

"It's a photo, well done," she remarks, not bothering to look.

Jonny huffs. "No, look. This photo."

Gemma's chin jabs his shoulder − it was probably on purpose, Jonny guesses − as she stands up at full height to see over him. "What about it?" She sounds agitated and tired, once more nudging him with some body part to his back in attempt to shift him.

Once more, Jonny huffs. Why she's being so dense, he doesn't know. He states, "It's from your wedding."

He only moves because Gemma won't stop shoving at him and they're on a stairs, meaning if he retaliates, she could fall down them and seriously hurt herself, and since she's what's holding him up right now, if she goes, Jonny's going too and he really doesn't want to seriously hurt _himself_ or hurt her more by falling on her.

"Yeah," she agrees. They're outside her bedroom now, Jonny's spare room a few more steps away but when he tries to step forwards, Gemma's shoving him into her room and- oh, right, yes, he's with her now. He gets it, it's closer, yep, ok, Jonathan Toews is totally on board with what's happening right now. He starts stripping out of his jeans without being told to and if Gemma has any issues with that, she doesn't voice them. "I like the frame."

Jonny just looks at her. Then:

"Oh. It is a nice one."

"I haven't found another photo for it yet."

The collar of his v-neck gets stuck on his ear. "That's cool."

He hits the bed when it's mostly off, and she lies down next to him. It doesn't take much for him to fall asleep.

He wakes up a while later, nose pressed into the jut of Gemma's shoulder blade and the duvet pulled up around his chin. Blearily he looks around for a clock − his phone is somewhere in his jeans, balled on the floor, and he is too comfortable to get up and search for it. So he doesn't. Next to him Gemma stirs, her shirt rubbing against the covers as she moves; she still has her heels on. Jonny gives her a nudge.

"No," she grumbles.

But now she has given herself away, told him she is awake the same as he is, so Jonny butts in with, "What time is it?" which comes out a jumbled, slurred mess of consonants with a ridiculous-sounding Canadian lilt. It earns him a laugh and a quick 'dunno' back.

He shoves an arm outside the covers − surprised by how cold the air is compared to inside his warm cocoon − and jostles her shoulder with his hand. Gemma moves her head back just the right amount to fill his mouth with her hair, making Jonny splutter it back out, breath hitting her neck underneath, and she reaches back to swat at him, her open hand making contact with his chest, protected by the duvet. "Stop," she sighs, drawing out the vowel for an extra beat.

"You're still dressed," he insists.

"No one cares."

Jonny huffs, moving her hair out of his face again, and grumbles. "Take your pants off."

The bed shifts as she rolls over, turning to face him and frown. Jonny can make out that much of her face in the darkness, between her hair and the crease from the pillows on her cheek − she looks cute, in a weird way, and Jonny feels a draw in his chest like he wants to pull her for a cuddle and go back to sleep. But he can't. Mainly because she is wearing _shoes in bed_ (unlike Jonny, who somehow managed to take them off at the front door even when wasted) and that is just something he can't let anyone way with. Even Gemma.

She moves again and Jonny has to roll out of his cosy bundle of covers to give her space. _God_ , still in her shoes and making him move. Jonny huffs exasperatedly. His shoulder is cold and that's just not on − all he wanted was the time. With the arm still under the covers, he grabs her, gets his hand under Gemma's side and hauls her into him, wrapping her up in the duvet and setting her half on top of him.

She says, "This seems redundant."

Gemma just used a three syllable word at ass o'clock in the morning after an evening spent with tequila and beer; Jonny doesn't know if he's impressed or jealous but decides to go with neither and he says, "Just get into the bed properly."

"I'm still in my shoes."

"Yes," he agrees, "but you're not gonna take them off so shut up and get in."

It takes a bit of shuffling around. Jonny has to forfeit the last bit of his warm air to allow Gemma to throw back the covers and get in. She tosses for a minute, too long for Jonny's liking, so he grabs an arm around her waist and hauls her to him. Her legs end up tossed over his waist, her ass pressed in against his hips; her knees lift the duvet up, letting a load of cold air in around Jonny's back but she is finally still which is all he really cares about.

One of her heels presses into his back.

"Stop."

"Just checking you're still with me," she replies, soft and sleep-slurred.

"Where else would I be?" and he butts his head against her shoulder until she lifts her arm and he can push himself into her space, settling his face on the curve of her boob. Her fingers comb through the hair at the nape of his neck until they both fall back asleep.

 

 

+

 

 

Gemma fires her iPad at him with a laugh too loud for Jonny to handle in his current state. He buries his face further into the pillow, ignore the weight of the iPad against his back and setting his face to a frown as Gemma announces, "You did it! You're my fucking mystery brunette." She does walk away and leave him go back to sleep, but only after another round of obnoxiously loud laughter.

 

 

+

 

 

When Jonny gets back from his jog, he feels something is off about the hall. He turns to check around him, sensing something out of place but- no. Christopher is sitting, judging him on the stairs as always and none of the furniture has been moved.

Jonny frowns.

Christopher licks his paw.

Then he spots it. There's a space on the wall, one of the pictures missing. The paint in that spot is brighter, less faded than the rest of the paint around it, not shocking, but obvious in a muted way. Jonny stares at it as he wipes his palm through his sweaty hair.

Gemma steps out of the kitchen holding an orange j-cloth and the empty white frame.

"Did you get papped while out?" she asks, only half joking.

Jonny shakes his head, feigning disappointment. He doesn't think he did, anyway, but Gemma _does_ live in Primrose Hill, alongside Kate Moss and other such people of the British London jet set − who knows how many photographers lie in wait, hoping to catch Daisy Lowe or Fearne Cotton going into or out of their houses. And if anyone recognised Jonny from last night, or did a Google search for his face − can they do that? Jonny doesn't know, he's just cracked how to use Pocket Trains − they could have snapped a few pictures as he jogged by. Fuck, he doesn't think he did but now he's second guessing it.

Gemma looks at him with a worried smile. "You ok there? Your face has gone lopsided."

Jonny goes back to the issue at hand. As nonchalantly as he can muster, he points at the frame in her hand and says, "You took it down."

She shrugs and Jonny feels himself copy the motion, even though Gemma isn't looking at him. She says, "I kept thinking about what you said and- you were right. It didn't make sense to keep it up there."

"I was drunk," he protests, suddenly more involved in the picture's removal from the wall than he should possibly be. "You didn't have to."

"I'm not married anymore."

Jonny sighs.

He insists, "I didn't mean for you to take it down."

"Well, it's down now, so argument over." Gemma puts the empty frame down on the table, next to the bowl where she stores all her keys. It's shaped like banana and according to Gemma, Hannah bought it for her in Venice and she kinda likes it, in a completely-aware-it's-disgustingly-tacky way; personally, Jonny doesn't think a novelty bowl shaped like a fruit is a great place to store keys, but it isn't his house. And he's made enough interior decorating suggestions on this visit already.

He stares at the frame.

"What are you going to put in it instead?" he asks, following her back into the kitchen. He's gross, sticky with sweat and stinking of stale booze along with it, but he wants a cup of coffee before he gets into the shower − not the correct thing to follow a workout with but Gemma's Nespresso machine is stupidly amazing.

Gemma returns the j-cloth to its rightful spot and washes the remnants whatever polish-cleaner thing she used off her hands. She replies, "Not sure," then, with a laugh, "maybe my next wedding photo."

It shouldn't hit Jonny as hard as it does, but he has to stop for a second to properly assess her answer. Her last wedding, marriage, whatever, they haven't really spoken about that. Her divorce, sure, they've gotten into that topic a few times − it was finalised around her birthday and the Winter Olympics, and there was something sorta soothing, relaxing in a really confusing way now Jonny thinks about it, listening to her complain about lawyers and all the stupid things she let her ex have. And they've definitely never brought up the topic of her remarrying − except that one time when they were drunk and Gemma was with Tom, who jokingly yelled at Jonny down the phone that he was speaking to Britain's next Burton and Taylor, which Jonny loudly chuckled at because the thought of Gemma marrying Tom _Hiddleston_ was too ridiculous for him to handle, and Gemma chimed in with, "No, no, no. Sorry. I'd rather not." − but now that it's out there, Jonny doesn't know how to handle it.

"Would you?" he asks, sorta panting around it.

Gemma digs him out a mug from the press next to him while he busies himself looking through the Nespresso selection. She asks back, "Would I what?"

"Get married again," and he tries not to roll his eyes because, duh, what else would he be talking about right now, Arterton?

She lets out a surprised 'oh' sound, followed by a shrug that butts their arms together, and finally, "I dunno. Maybe." Jonny feels sorta let down by her answer. "I mean, yeah. But I couldn't- it would have to be totally different to the last one."

Jonny waits. There's an explanation coming, he just has to stare at Gemma for long enough.

"Cos," there we go, "I was 23. And I got married to a 40 year old, who I'd only date for, what? Six months. In a Spanish castle. I got all swept up in being so in love with him and _needing_ to spend the rest of my life with him, because I loved him so much, that I never. . . I never really considered what was coming next." She scratches at the side of her neck, an awkward tick Jonny has seen her do a few times before, and the light on the Nespresso machine turns from orange to green. He slots his cup under and Gemma continues, "I'd marry someone else if I knew I could spend the rest of my life being happy knowing they were there."

She stops again.

Jonny's cup fills with- whatever the fuck flavour and caffeine level the purple sachet is.

"I'd marry my best friend. Cos I'd know I could be happy with them forever and being madly in love with them would come second. Or just be a given."

 

 

+

 

 

Jonny only asks because he's full of wine. And garlic bread. So much fucking garlic bread; he should not have eaten all of that bread, why did Gemma let him do that? He's never going to be able to move again. He's going to have to lie on her living room floor for the rest of his life, die here, because Gemma let him eat an entire baguette of garlic bread. And drink a whole bottle of Rioja to himself.

He asks, "Would you marry me?"

 

 

+

 

 

For the record, she doesn't give him an answer.

 

 

+

 

 

"Would you marry me?"

Gemma asks while they're standing in the line to see Van Gogh's Sunflowers. Jonny is finally in an art gallery − the National Gallery, since he doesn't actually want to go to the Tates anymore − and Gemma throws that at him. He looks around the people standing next to them, trying to work out if anyone heard; there's a group of teenagers with a handful of adults who seem to have recognised Gemma and maybe that couple, both in Ryerson sweaters, a few people away from them who keep staring at Jonny like they're trying to work out if it's really him, but other than those few, no one has overheard.

The line is taking forever.

When he gets outside, Jonny is going to text his mom and tell her that the Tate Gallery was a bust but the National Gallery was the worst, since he spent two of the three hours he was in it waiting in line to see an overly yellow-toned painting of wilting flowers.

But right now, he's got a question to ask. Because unlike _some people_ , Arterton, Jonny knows it's polite to answer a question when asked it.

"Are we talking about for real or just hypothetically?"

It's meant to be a joke but, serious as anything, Gemma fires back, "Whichever way you want."

Jonny has to breathe for a minute. Then states, "I asked you first."

"And I said 'yes' but you were complaining too loudly about garlic bread to hear it."

_Oh._

Yeah, he hadn't heard that. "Were you taking it as for real or just hypothetically?" Cos he has to check.

"Either," and she adds a shrug, quick and easy, as Jonny wets the corner of his mouth this his tongue.

He says, "Wait," then repeats the movement of his tongue on the other side. "You mean, you'd-"

Gemma sighs, remaining silent, while Jonny just stands there. The sentence drops before it's even properly made but they both know what he's asking. She stares at him while he stares at her and somewhere to Jonny's left someone goes, "It's definitely her." He blinks. Gemma doesn't. There is a time and place for them to be doing this and now isn't it.

He says, "Then I would too. Yes."

It feels bigger than it should.

Another forty minutes pass before they get anywhere near the top of the line. Gemma flicks through her phone, not avoiding conversation with him, but not talking to Jonny either. He's fine with that, mostly focused on getting into the room to see the painting while trying not to build up his excitement too much − a line like this should lead to something amazing and impressive that completely blows him away, but Jonny has seen this painting about fifty thousand times in photos, so he knows it's going to be a massive letdown. It's a vase of dying flowers.

A stern looking security guard glares at Gemma when they reach the front of the line, so Jonny nudges her. She's texting Hannah, lifting her face up with a look of 'what do you want now?', like a parent dealing with an irritating child. Jonny feels mildly offended, frowning back in a 'I'm being nice right now' way and nodding towards the guard next to the entrance to the room.

Gemma shoots her a smile and the guard breaks, smiling back.

Jonny rolls his eyes because, gross, disgusting, stop being charming, Arterton.

She pockets her phone and finally, finally finally fucking _finally_ they're allowed into the room.

Ok, so Jonny was wrong. Very wrong. The painting is impressive. And beautiful. But not because of the content, but- there's something in the heavy brushstrokes, the layers of paint and the waves it has dried in that makes Jonny feel. . . Ok, he couldn't really reach in and touch the flowers, it's very obviously a painting of flowers, but there's a charm in the aesthetic of it. It's a painting, but there's a life to it. Jonny tips his head to the side to take it in from another angle − it lowers him to everyone else's height as he stands a head above everyone currently in the room. When Gemma folds her arms, her elbow brushes off of Jonny's.

"I've always liked yellow, as a colour," she informs him. "There's something happy about it." Her head is angled the same direction as Jonny's. "You can feel he was happy here, that summer in Arles. With Gauguin. Who was a dick, but Van Gogh hadn't worked that out yet."

Jonny replies, "I like the way the paint looks."

It isn't as cultured or well-learned as Gemma's, but she takes it with an agreeing, "Yeah, the texture's lovely."

He pays for their coffee on the way out as thanks for the Gemma Arterton half-assed tour of the National Gallery. She admitted when they were going in that most of it would stuff she remembers from tours while in school or from her grandad, who was apparently really into art; Jonny feels if put on the spot in WAG, he would not be as good as her, but if she wanted to do a walking tour of the city or Chicago, he could manage that.

Gemma has him hold her coffee while she rummages in her bag for her sunglasses.

Nelson's Column is in front of him, but Jonny chooses to watch Gemma instead. She pushes her keys from one side of the bag to the other four times before she locates a glasses case; it turns out to be the one for her driving glasses − they got the tube again, which makes Jonny wonder when was the last time she cleared out her handbag − so she heaves out a long sigh and dives back in to keep searching.

"You can have mine," he offers. He has a snapback, he'll be fine.

With her face fully in her bag, Gemma replies, "No. Thanks. I _will_ find them."

Jonny finishes his own coffee, then steals two sips of hers while she isn't looking. It scalds his tongue but he doesn't let himself wince − if Gemma sees, he'll have to admit he was drinking hers and so far he has gotten away with it; no point admitting guilt if you're being let off as innocent.

She emerges triumphant with her fingers clutched around the sunglasses themselves, shooting her hand straight up and almost stabbing Jonny in the cheek with them.

His tongue still hurts.

He rolls it around his mouth while she takes her coffee back and turns to go back to the station. Gemma makes a face at him, eyebrow raised above her sunglasses when his tongue pokes a lump out in his cheek. He considers sticking it out at her but doesn't, because Jonny is a mature, professional acting human being who doesn't make faces back at people when they make faces at him. _Mostly_. Sometimes, though, his face does things without his permission. Or he forgets there's a camera on him. At least, that's what he tells Gemma when she gangs up with Sharpy − _transatlantically_ − to tease him about the latest hilarious face he pulled on camera.

 

 

+

 

 

"Did you enjoy the gallery?" she asks, already on the steps down into Piccadilly station.

"Would you really marry me?" he asks. It's really not what he means to come out of his mouth, a complete jump from what she asked but he- he's been sorta stuck on it since she said it in the line. He must say it a little loudly because a few people turn around to look at them.

Gemma just gawks.

"Why?" she eventually manages to stutter out. "Are you really asking?"

Jonny swallows. There are two ways this conversation can go. Neither should happen while there's a person snapping a photo of Gemma's profile on their phone. He looks down at her face, as it settles back into a less confused, mildly terrified expression. "I just. What you said made sense."

"Jonathan."

She cuts him off with his name. His full name. She only even calls him that when she's teasing him. Gemma definitely isn't teasing him right now.

Jonny feels his shoulders sag.

Someone in a red raincoat − pointless, considering the blistering heat and humidity outside of the station − snaps another photo of Gemma.

Jonny nods.

"C'mon," Gemma returns, turning around and heading through the crowd. For some reason, their platform is packed; children with their parents, couples hanging off of one another, a buggy here and another over there, a group of older women talking behind their hands about everyone else around them. The train comes and everyone piles on.

They get separated. But Jonny doesn't look for Gemma in the crowd. He knows she's there and that's enough. He just needs a minute or two to himself.

Walking in the door, Jonny spots the picture frame out of the corner of his eye. Christopher isn't in his usual spot when they enter but there's the frame. Empty. Almost taunting. Jonny thins his eyes at it while Gemma's dropping her keys into their bowl.

She sighs, the muscles of her back moving with it under her t-shirt. Jonny watches it happen and has to take in a breath, like he's steadying himself for what's about to happen next. Her voice is a little thin as she says, "I'm going to ask you once and whatever you say after, that's it. That's the conversation and we deal with whatever happens." It throws him. Off kilter. Jonny knows how this could play out, knows how he wants it to play out, but he- he wasn't expecting Gemma to be on the same page. To be so solidly aware of it. He swallows something thick down in his throat, waiting. She inhales and goes, "Are you really asking, or is this a joke? Some weird, Canadian sense of humour shit I don't really understand."

It was never meant to get to this. He knows that. Jonny fucking _knows_ that when Gemma idly made the remark, the offhand sorta joke about putting her next wedding photo into the white frame, she wasn't actually hoping to discuss the possibility of marrying Jonny in the future.

But now it's out there. In the universe; he would marry her and she would marry him. Just as she described it. That all sounds great to Jonny, honestly. That sounds ideal; marrying someone you can tolerate being around, no threat of it falling apart because you aren't friends anymore. Gemma might really be onto something with this, marrying your best friend and letting everything else sort itself out.

He licks his bottom lip, just for something to do before answering. "It's not a joke."

Gemma laughs anyway. Breathy and shocked, she laughs, the corners of her eyes crinkling together as she looks at him, a line across her nose cutting through the freckles there. 

"But you can't be serious," she insists.

"Were you not? When you said you would marry me, were you not being serious?"

Gemma lets out her answer with a scoff. "Of course I was," and she frowns. "I would marry you. As friends, I would _definitely_ marry you."

Jonny makes a gesture with his hand between them, a movement of his wrist back and forth, pointing with his fingers. He's not sure what he means for it to mean, but it's something. Gemma rolls her eyes, caught between laughing again and maybe getting a bit mad at him. "I might mean it but I didn't- I didn't say it, I didn't answer the question to actually then _do it_."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't think you've thought this through."

Jonny points his finger at her, about to call her out on her lie. Gemma knows him. She fucking knows him and she knows that if there's one thing Jonathan Toews is going to do with something, it's properly think it through. He has been thinking it through since she first said it; he hasn't stopped thinking it through the whole time, since before he even knew she said 'yes' when he asked her the other night. Alright, so not about doing it with Gemma, maybe doing it with someone else, but now that it's all out there, it makes so much fucking sense. He tells her, "I've thought about it. Everything you said, the way it would all go, that's exactly what I want. So, give me one good reason why we," he gestures between them again, "shouldn't."

"Ok," she replies, and she moves her feet beneath her, getting her balance properly, standing up straighter. "Because you haven't been married before." Jonny sniffs, nose twitching. Gemma continues, "I've done the whole being madly in love with a person and needing to spend the rest of my life with them thing, so I'm _allowed_ say 'yeah, I'd rather marry a friend and know I am capable of being solid with them this time around' − you haven't yet."

He opens his mouth to contradict but Gemma just takes a quick breath and comes straight back in.

"What if you meet someone? After we're married. And you could fall in love with them and be happy with that. But you can't, cos you and I got married for some stupid reason."

"You're hardly selling the idea of first marriages to me." He snaps it out, a little more meanly than he wants but it comes out and Jonny sticks with it. Gemma looks on the verge of throttling him. Her fingers have balled themselves into fists inside her palms. Her jaw is tight. "I think we could work," he states.

"Really," he adds.

Gemma groans. But she appears to be a bit less angry.

"I think we could be as happy as- as my mom and dad. Or Sharpy and Abby." He comes back around with, "My mom says she married her best friend about my dad."

Shaking her head, Gemma remarks, "They've been married for years − long-term married couples always say stuff like that. They spend all their time together, of course they know each other best in the world."

Jonny presses, "So, we'll be like that. But instead of becoming best friends, we'll go into it like that."

"Are you saying I'm your best friend?"

She's mocking him. Jonny frowns. This isn't the place for jokes, not in the middle of Jonny's proposal. Ok, so it's probably not the best proposal Gemma has ever received − and she's had two others, as far as Jonny's knows, one of whom she actually went on to marry − but it's Jonny's first time proposing, so she has to cut him some slack. "Yes," he answers, mostly to be contrary. "And I'm asking you to marry me."

She deflates. It isn't a 'no'. Just all the fight in her disappears. She's smiling though, and Jonny feels himself grinning when she answers, "Ok, I'll marry you."

 

 

+

 

 

"We should do it while I'm here. Like. Maybe tomorrow or the day after."

Gemma whips her head around to look at him so fast, Jonny's own neck feels sympathy pains for her. "Whoa, ok, rushing into it here. Making sure I won't run away?"

Maybe a little.

 

 

+

 

 

"None of your friends are here," Gemma points out. "Or your family." She sounds kinda sad about it, sorry for him almost. Her mum isn't here either, off in the South of France with her friends for two weeks, but Hannah's around and Gemma's already said they should probably have her as their witness; 'just to make sure it's all legal and binding', Gemma said on the matter.

Jonny shrugs and goes back to straining the pasta. He sorta likes that there's no one from his side here. And only one for Gemma. They're going into this as just them, so it feels right to have it be just them. And Hannah, but she doesn't really count.

"We can tell them afterwards," he replies. Gemma smiles at his pronoun usage. Jonny drops two pieces of pasta on the tiled floor.

"What are we going to tell them?"

Oh.

Jonny hadn't really thought about that. Ok, shhh, maybe Gemma was correct when she said he hadn't thought this the whole way through but he still isn't going to let her know that. "Whatever," he says, with another shrug of his shoulders, "it's our business, not theirs. We'll just tell everyone that we got married."

"And then?"

"We'll work it out."

 

 

+

 

 

On the morning of the day they're going to the register office to pick up their wedding licence, a week to the day since Gemma picked Jonny up in the airport − "It says I have to have been living in the area for the past seven days." "That's fine, you'll be here a week tomorrow." "But I'm not technically a resident?" "Where on that page does it say you have to be a resident, you just have to have been living here for a week. Which you have. Freeloader. Fantastic, I have a freeloader for a fiancé." − Jonny calls David to tell him he's getting married.

For the two minutes after Jonny gets the sentence out, David laughs. He laughs so long and so hard, he ends up wheezing at his brother, who breathes heavily out of his nostrils while waiting for him to stop. Eventually, David asks, "To _who_."

"Gemma," Jonny replies with a sigh, because it's obvious.

David starts laughing again.

"How did you convince her to do that?"

It stops Jonny in his tracks. He not actually sure how he got her to say yes. She just- eventually did, after he kept insisting it was fine. Ok, definitely not telling David that. He goes for, "I just asked her."

David clicks his tongue off the roof of his mouth. "Does Mom know?"

"No. That's why I'm telling yo-"

"I'm not telling her for you, dude, not a fucking chance." Jonny figures David must not be at home; they don't use words like 'fuck' under their parents' roof. "No way in Hell-"

"I don't need you to tell her," Jonny cuts him off. "I'm gonna tell her myself. I just want you to know so you know that she's going to. . . _React_ to the news. But I'm gonna wait until after I'm actually married before I tell her."

For a third time in possibly as many minutes, Jonny gets laughed at by his younger brother. He didn't appreciate it the first time, he really doesn't appreciate it now. Jonny imagines his brother wiping a 'shit, that was a great laugh' tear from his eye as he says, "You're just hoping that once it's done she can't get mad at you for it."

In her defence, Jonny's mom is _not_ a terrifying dragon lady. Jonny just doesn't want to deal with her crying down the phone at him before he's got around to saying 'I do'. Afterwards, when he can tell her all the details like what Gemma's dress was like and how she wore her hair and what ring he got her- wait.

"It'll be fine, I've gotta go," Jonny barges out with, hanging up on David while he's in the middle of saying 'oh, ok, send Gemma my sympathies', cutting off the last word but Jonny had the gist of it. Leaning back in his chair and yelling in the direction of the stairs, Jonny calls out, "Gemma."

She doesn't answer.

Last Jonny knew, she was heading upstairs for a shower.

He tries again, elongating the vowel sound at the end of her name this time.

She calls back, "What?" snapping the tee off her front teeth.

"What kind of ring do you want?"

"What?" She sounds confused. 

Jonny wonders if their marriage is going to consist of a lot of confused shouting through rooms in their homes because this isn't the first time they've done this. He carefully says, making sure to perfectly annunciate every word, "What type of metal do you want your wedding ring to be made out of?"

"If I say 'platinum' does that make me a gold digger?"

He has no comeback for that.

"Silver's fine," she adds.

 

 

+

 

 

The first thing Jonny learns after marrying into the Arterton family is that his new sister-in-law can't be trusted with anything. (The second thing he learns is that Gemma's mom is as easy going and hilarious as her eldest daughter, laughing at Jonny down the phone as she says congratulations and tells him to look after Gemma; from that and what Jonny has heard about her previously from Gemma, he decides he likes his mother-in-law.) Because Hannah tells. Well. Everyone she thinks needs to know. Who then, in turn, tell everyone they think needs to know and towards the end of dinner, Gemma's phone buzzes with at least thirty two texts, telling her to bring Jonny and be at the Box at eleven.

"Hannah told people," she sighs, stabbing her fork into the cheesecake between them.

Jonny ordered it for himself, since Gemma insisted she only wanted tea, but since the waiter brought over two forks for it, she has eaten more of it than he has. He picks at the crust, replying, "How many?"

Her phone buzzes again beside her elbow. "A few."

They go Dutch on the check, then Gemma pays for the taxi back to hers. Jonny frowns at her front door. "Aren't we going out?" he asks, but follows her into the hall, kicking off his shoes along the way.

"We are, we are," Gemma sing-songs. "We just have something quick to do here first. We'll still make it out by eleven, maybe quarter past at the latest."

Jonny keeps following her, padding through the hallway and up the stairs in his socks. Gemma's heels thump loudly on the wooden floor under the carpets. They pass Christopher, lying in front of the bathroom door; Gemma bends to scratch his chin, and Jonny passes him a smile − he likes to think that now he's married to Gemma, Christopher looks at him a tad less despairingly. Not much, but he purrs up at Jonny while Gemma's rubbing her thumb in circles in the middle of his head, Christopher's ear wiggling and yeah, Jonny's doing ok with Gemma's cat now.

But he still has to ask, "Is what we're doing petting Christopher?"

Gemma looks up at him, fingers still going on Christopher's head, and smiles. Actually, it's more of a smirk. But it's Gemma, so Jonny gives her the benefit of the doubt and classifies it as a smile in his head. "No. We're here to get rid of your awful goatee and moustache combo."

She rises up and Christopher playfully reaches for her hand, swiping at the air for her. It's the most endearing thing Jonny has seen him do since he arrived in London, but he has other things to worry about right now. "We?" Jonny checks, hoping he doesn't sound too stricken.

She nods.

Jonny feels himself take a step back.

"As your wife, I am taking it upon myself to fix- whatever the fuck this monstrosity on your face is," and she draws a circle through the air, surrounding it. "I would trust you to do it yourself, but you haven't yet. So-"

Jonny could argue. There's a very solid argument for why she shouldn't do it, including but not limited to Jonny pointing out she had half a bottle of Merlot with dinner. But if he wants to use that, he has to also admit he had the other half and is, therefore, at the same blood-alcohol level Gemma is. So, rather than get into it, Jonny goes to his room with a 'fine, wait a sec' and rummages through his bag.

His pulse quickens as he hands her the razor. It's a cut throat, one his uncle gave him as a birthday present a few years back − Jonny's never actually used it but it always seems to be with him. What better way to christen their marriage than to let his new wife put a sharp blade to his throat? Gemma's hand closes around it and everything about her seems to tighten; even her breathe holds for a moment as his hand pulls away from hers. She asks, "You sure? I was just going to use a normal one."

Jonny nods. "I'm sure."

They have to move Christopher to get into the bathroom. He doesn't seem that happy with the idea but he trots off when Gemma tells him to go to bed; Jonny imagines they're going to come home and find something shredded.

She sits him on the tub and says, "I only have peach and raspberry scented shaving foam, is that ok?"

He asks, "Have you ever done this before?"

"Only with- like. A regular razor. Is that ok?"

Jonny shrugs, hoping she gets that he trusts her, and leans back to give her space. Her knee knocks into his as she steps into his space, hands already dealing with a large amount of foam; he doesn't meant to jerk back from her but the foam is colder than he's expecting. He manages not to tumble into the tub, but only just. Gemma laughs, says, "We don't have to. I was only jok-"

"No, it's fine. S'cold, that's all," he insists, and settles a hand on her hip to stop her going anywhere.

Gemma tips her head to look at his fingers but stays quiet on the matter. Just to be a dick, Jonny presses his fingertips into her, the material of her dress making a soft noise under his palm. She goes back to it. This time, the foam is no less cold but Jonny is prepared for it. "You good?" she asks.

He nods. It causes Gemma to draw foam lower on his neck than she needs.

She nods too, then turns to the tap. It takes a bit but steam eventually rises from the water, fogging up the mirror. Jonny feels the beginnings of sweat prickle at the base of his neck and further down, between his shoulder blades and at the bottom of his spine. Despite it, he feels oddly calm, even as he watches Gemma run the razor under the tap. "If I slice your throat, I get everything, right?" she jokes, and Jonny likes that; she softens the mood, just as she places the sharp edge against his skin.

He can't see what is happening and that's the most startling. All he has to focus on is Gemma's face before him. So very close.

From here, he could count her freckles if he wanted to. It's Summer, late into June, and she's got more than he remembers her having back in March when he last saw her before. Across the line of her cheekbones, a pattern down the slope of her nose. There's even one on her right eyelid, just above the lash line, and a scattering, paler than the others, across her décolletage and tops of her shoulders. The one that holds his focus the most though is the one on the top of her lip, just sitting on the curve of her Cupid's bow. He looks at it, then blinks. It's still there when he opens his eyes again.

Without meaning to, Jonny squeezes his fingers into her side again.

Gemma smiles, even as she tilts her head to get a better angle, and Jonny watches as the freckle stretches a little with the expression and movement of her mouth. He is stupidly transfixed by it. It's just there. Right there, above her lips and-

_Fuck._

Jonny's never really paid this much attention to Gemma's mouth before. Even back when they first met, back when Jonny was drunk in Rockit, half on beer and half on _winning the Stanley Cup for the second time_ , and Gemma was apologising for knocking his beer into his shirt, he had been so taken by the fact that he was talking to the Gemma Arterton, the princess from that terrible version of _the Prince of Persia_ he and Kaner watched way too many times when they got their hands on a bootleg copy of it, that he'd sorta forgotten to hit on her. Not once did the thought of flirting with her, making her smile and then maybe leaning in to kiss her cross his mind.

In fact, the first time Jonny had ever considered kissing Gemma was today. Because he had been told, "You may now kiss the bride."

But now. Sitting here, on the edge of her tub as she uses her thumb to tilt his chin down so she can reach the side of his face better, all Jonny can stare at is Gemma's mouth. Like he's stuck staring at it, nowhere else to turn.

She stops and her expression shifts to worried. "You're being awfully quiet," she says.

Her breath ghosts over Jonny's skin, sensitive where it's now bare, and he runs his thumb along her. His voice is thick, a little choked, as he gives her back, "Your hipbone sticks out funny, " running the pad of his thumb across it just to emphasise his point.

"Yeah?" she returns, a smile once more on her mouth because Jonny's being weird and that's normal for Jonny, "Well, your eyebrows are crooked."

Jonny frowns − he knows they aren't and Gemma grins back at him. He has to drop his gaze from her face, just to get away from the freckles, but he ends up staring at her boobs which- doesn't help at all. As she breathes in and out, they shift up and down against the material of her dress. Soft and slowly rising, Jonny considers going back to staring at her face because at least staring at her face and thinking about kissing her is kinda more gentlemanly than staring at her boobs and thinking about getting his mouth on those.

The razor catches on his chin.

"Sorry," Gemma says, barely above a whisper, almost as if it is a secret between them. She moves to get a towel, turning against Jonny's hand since he has her locked in and- apparently isn't going to let her go. Carefully, she dabs at the corner of his jaw, humming as she looks at the residue on the towel and deeming it ok. "I thought I'd cut you."

He gets out, "It's fine." And that feels weird to say, a little too honest and open, but it's true.

Jonny lets his eyes go back up to her face for a moment, just in time for her to flick water in his face. A droplet catches on his eyelashes and Gemma swoops in quickly to wipe it away; Jonny doesn't flinch from her this time. But once she's pulled away, a smile and a gentle 'there we go' on her lips, he can't stand looking at her again. He tips his face towards the floor.

Gemma ignores him − or maybe she hasn't noticed, which Jonny hopes is closer to the truth − and picks back up the razor. She has to swipe her thumb down the blade to remove all of the foam, some of it now tacky and stuck to the metal after she didn't wash it off immediately. Jonny hears her do it rather than watches, and completely misses when she moves back to his face, her hand coming up to turn his jaw back to the right angle for her − whatever way it happens, she ends up butting his face into her shoulder, Jonny's not sure how, but now there's shaving foam all over her skin and he pulls back with a soft, shocked noise.

"Jonny," she says, like a reprimand but also too sweet for it, like she's apologising and scolding him all at once.

Jonny just shakes his head, holding his face in the right position now and letting her get back to it. He stares at a point on her neck, just where it flows from neck to shoulder, right above the soft hollow her clavicles cause on her skin. If he angles his head correctly, he can see down the front of her dress, Gemma leaning further into him this time and causing the material to dip away from her. Jonny's cheeks feel hot with the thought. He moves his hand he has on her side to distract himself from the thought but that only succeeds at making her dress pull lower at the front, adding to his view.

Her bra is violet.

He suddenly feels wholly too aware of everything − Gemma's knees in between his, the pattern of the turquoise flamingos along her dress, the contrast in the dark colour of her bra versus the pale slope of her boobs inside it, the way her breathing is steady as she finishes up removing the last of his beard. The feel of the air she exhales across his skin.

Jonny swallows and the sound of it is wet. He looks up at the exact minute she looks down and their eyes touch. "Everything ok?" she asks.

He goes to move his head and answer but- manages to somehow fuck it up, pulling her into him with his hand without really thinking about it and wiping his mostly finished face across her arm. She releases all the air in her lungs with a soft 'oof' noise and her knee butts into his thigh. "Yeah," he states, hoping he isn't too red because that may have been one of the most embarrassing things he has ever done and there is only one other person in the room with him.

Gemma wipes the foam off her arm.

Jonny has to let her go to let her step back from him, his hand falling away from her dress slowly. She steps back, click-clack of her heels on the tiles, and in an instant she has the razor offered to Jonny. "You finish up," she insists.

He's not sure if she actually flees from the bathroom after that, but it certainly feels like she does.

 

 

+

 

 

Idris catches her in a hug as soon as he arrives, spinning Gemma into him and saying something to her that Jonny only just manages to make out over the thump of the bass. "I can't believe you got _married_ ," is what he's saying as he lets Gemma go and Jonny doesn't know whether he should feel proud or a bit embarrassed. Idris goes on, "You were meant to be _my wife_ this summer," and Jonny figures it's a joke. He lets Gemma go and pulls Jonny in for an equally tight hug.

Jonny says, "Fuck," and hopes Idris isn't offended. So far, he's been dragged into a hug by all of Gemma's friends and then given some form of advice by each one of them − except Nick, who told Jonny, "Hey, your beard's gone!" and Jonny had to explain that, yeah, Gemma shaved it off, which prompted Nick to reply, "Mmm, that's our Arterton," and Jonny had to wonder if Gemma has bullied all her friends with beard-growing abilities into letting her shave theirs off − but when Idris pulls Jonny in, he says:

"You better treat her right."

Yes. Jonathan Toews is currently being threatened by Idris Elba and it is the most surreal moment of Jonny's entire life. He stammers out, "I will," and hopes that's good enough. It's probably not but there's nothing Jonny can do about that.

Luckily, as Jonny is standing there, being stared down by Idris while Gemma is off talking to her sister, too far away to save her new husband, Tamsin barges her way into the group with a tray of shots, and Idris' stern mood seems to dissipate in favour of pulling Tamsin into a hug, steadying the tray with his free hand to stop any of the alcohol spilling. She swats him away with a chastising, "Idris, God," and pulls the tray out of everyone's reach before they can take anything from it. "Wait, hang on, these are for a toast."

Gemma catches Jonny's eyes to roll hers at him. He smiles and steps towards her space. He still somewhat afraid of Idris, who is currently distracted by Antonia and the prospect of tequila, and Jonny feels safer being next to his wife.

She pats his arm fondly as he situates himself beside her.

Tamsin coughs, smiling over at the two of them. Hannah laughs, inappropriate for a moment but it seems to break the severity of it. "I just want to say," Tamsin begins, angling the tray away from Nick's wandering hand, "that, even though it's completely out of the blue and their reasons for doing it don't make sense at _all_ , I, for one, am really happy for Gemma and Jonathan and their ridiculous, impromptu marriage. So," and she finally lets Nick take one, all but thrusting the tray in his direction, "I'd like to make this toast to say well fucking done, you two. I mean that. From the bottom of my heart."

Jonny takes two shots from the tray and passes one to Gemma. She clinks her glass off his, then salutes Tamsin with it. They drink at the same time; the tequila burns going the whole way down. Everyone else says, "To Gemma and Jonathan," before taking theirs.

And Nick adds, "Trust Tam to get all emotional on us."

 

 

+

 

 

Jonny calls his mom the next morning after breakfast and two cups of coffee. Gemma makes eggs, pretends she isn't going to share, and plates them up for him with two pieces of wheat toast. He has it all eaten in twelve seconds flat. Gemma makes a mildly impressed face and washes up while he dials home.

She picks up on the third ring.

Jonny goes blank after 'hello'. He grabs at Gemma as she goes to pass by, pulling her in and tucking her against him, trapped under his arm. She pats his chest, letting him tighten his grip around her shoulder. "So. Uh- Mom?" It's not meant to be a question, he doesn't mean for it to come out as a question. His mom makes a noise back, like she knows. "I." Jonny looks at Gemma, who mouths 'just go for it' at him. Her mom laughed when she told her what they'd done, and welcomed Jonny warmly to the family; not that Jonny's afraid his mom is going to be the opposite, shun Gemma and tell him to call the whole thing off, he is worried about how quickly she is going to burst into tears after he says it.

This time, Gemma's pat isn't soothing. In fact, it's more like a shove, like 'get the fuck on with it'. Jonny frowns at her but sets his mouth to a determined line. Ok, he can do this.

"I got married."

After she checks if he's joking, she drops into French and it takes about ninety seconds for the tears to start. She manages to get all the standard questions out − "Why didn't you tell me that's what you were going there to do?" and "Why didn't you call _before_ you did it, then?" and, Jonny's personal favourite, "Oh, goodness, is Gemma ok?" like marrying Jonny is some terrible contract she's signed herself up to for life − and Jonny reassures her that yes, everything is good, his mom blubs. And it's like a dam breaking.

"Are you happy? You sound happy. I mean- From what you've said, you sound happy. Cheri, I can't believe you got _married_."

Then she asks, "Can I talk to her? Is she there?"

He drops back into English. With a smile at her, Jonny replies, "Yeah. Gemma's right here, Maman. Hang on." He waves the phone in Gemma's face.

She looks at it as if it is going to bite her.

'Talk to her!' he mouths. Then agitatedly shakes the phone in her face again.

Gemma takes it, stepping away, and she doesn't stop glaring at him for the first five sentences she says. She switches to speaking in French − his mom speaks Québécois while Gemma knows standard French, but she only turns to Jonny once with a confused look on her face, so he thinks it's fine. More than fine, really, since sometimes when his mom is flustered or excited, her natural reaction is to turn everything into French, so the fact Gemma switched into it as well is- kinda great. Yeah. Jonny married a really great person, well done to him.

A smug smile must take over his face or something, because Gemma swats at him while saying something about him. Jonny catches her hand easily between his fingers, pulling her back to him. She's been on the phone with his mom for longer than he was and, not that he's _jealous_ or anything, but he would also like to speak to her again and maybe tell his dad too. Maybe he isn't in − his mom didn't call for him when Jonny told her the news. Or maybe David already mentioned it to him and his dad got out of the way quickly, so to avoid anything his wife may do in reaction.

She passes the phone back with a laugh and one last 'thank you' to his mom and the second Jonny gets it to his ear, his mom is already asking, "When are you going to bring her to Winnipeg?"

Jonny stares at Gemma, wide eyed. "Um."

His mom laughs, voice tinny through the connection. "I suppose you'll turn up."

 

 

+

 

 

Jonny finds Gemma out in the garden having a cigarette, Skype open on her iPad and the loud voices of at least two members of One Direction coming through the speaker. "Nick says you're weird though," Jonny catches from Harry as he steps up behind her. "Like. It's not a thing."

"Yeah," Zayn throws in, butting Harry's face out of the way, snippily retorting 'it's my phone!' when Harry protests. "You guys are married but you're not a couple."

Gemma laughs.

"Something like that," she tosses back around a smile.

Harry asks, "Can I see the ring?" at the same time as Zayn enquires, "Is that him behind you?" Gemma almost jumps out of her skin as Jonny presses a hand to the small of her back, alerting her finally to his presence. She breathes out a quick 'fuck' and toes her cigarette butt into the stone tiles of her patio. "Hi Jonny," the two lads chorus at him, Harry shoving his face back into frame.

Zayn glares at the his friend's profile, but it's a stupidly fond look.

"Can I see _your ring_?" Harry asks.

Jonny's brain takes a moment to process, remembering eventually that to do that he has to lift his hand away from Gemma − her t-shirt is soft under his palm, warm from her skin, but he lifts it and Harry oohs appropriately. "Nice, matching," he notes.

Zayn rolls his eyes. "Most wedding rings match."

"Not always," Gemma manages to say at the same time as Harry does, and Harry quickly turns back from staring at Zayn insistently to smiling at Gemma. Of _course_ Gemma backs up the one with adorable curls and insane dimples − Jonny has watched her pick Kaner's side in arguments just to annoy him, although the worst is when she decides to side with Sharpy and really throw Jonny under the bus. Why did he marry her again?

"Non-conformist assholes," Zayn quickly throws out, quelling any possible impending arguments on rings and marriage − Jonny relates to him on a sorta personal level, feels like Zayn probably feels around his band mates the way Jonny feels around his own team mates, and based on that alone, he decides Zayn is his favourite member of One Direction. Ok, maybe not because next Zayn goes, " _I'm Gemma Arterton and I get married to American hockey players just because I feel like it._ " It is a terrible impression of Gemma yet beside Zayn, Harry is grinning like a lunatic, like his friend's unsubtle yet faux douchebaggery is in some way charming to him.

Managing to sound bored and utterly delighted at her friend's all at once, Gemma tosses back, "He's Canadian."

"Same thing," the other two chorus.

Jonny can't tell if they're saying it to annoy him or if they genuinely mean it. Neither really appeals to him. Gemma just laughs.

"It's kinda different − sometimes he gets really Canadian sounding about things and says-"

Jonny cuts her off with a disgruntled 'hey!' at the same time Harry makes loud gagging noises, throwing out, "Shut up, please. I thought you two were cute there for a second but I was wrong. God."

And the rest of Jonny's first ever Skype (/phone call/general) conversation with forty percent of One Direction pretty much continues on that line for the next fifteen minutes. Just as Gemma's picking on Harry about some tattoo or another he's thinking about getting − maybe he already got it, Jonny is adult and honest enough to admit he is totally lost right now, in between varying British accents and quick topic changes − there's a noise in the background and a third, distinctively blonde head pushes its way into the frame. Niall beams at the sight of Gemma and goes, "Oh, and the husband too. Very nice."

"Horan," she smiles. Jonny just stands there, wondering if he should text Kaner and tell him to tell his sisters that he spoke to Niall Horan _and_ he knew who he was. Kinda. In relation to Gemma. . . and Jonny's current relationship status to her which he hasn't told any of his team mates about yet. Which answers his own question, he should _not_ text Kaner that, unless he wanted to use it as a quirky 'oh, by the way, I got married yesterday; it's been an exciting week with that and speaking to three members of One Direction'.

While he's thinking about it, Gemma cuts the call.

"I should tell more people on my side of things," he states once he has her attention.

There's a flicker of some expression across Gemma's face but it's gone too quickly for Jonny to properly identify it. He wrinkles his forehead, not quite a frown but curious, but Gemma shakes her head and says, "Yeah, you should."

Jonny fumbles. Has he upset her? He doesn't know what to do. He wants to ask her how many of her friends and relations know. He wants to ask her how she told them. He wants to ask her if she'll stay with him while he tells other people, like Stan and Q and maybe Dan too, the way she did when he was on the phone with his mom. But Jonny's not sure how that would work out for him − if she's told a lot a people and he hasn't, which one of them is in the wrong? And will they have to have a fight about it? And what if Jonny doesn't tell his friends the way she told hers and it's wrong that way and will they have to have a fight about that as well?

It all sits awkwardly in his chest and he can't work out how to shift it.

Gemma comes up with a solution for him, removing herself from the equation as she says, "I'm gonna go put the laundry in the dryer."

Jonny leaves her go, standing in the middle of the patio and watching her leave until she's disappeared well into the kitchen. He sees her through the window. He thinks about calling her back. Because now everything feels- impossibly huge. Telling his mom was easier compared with how this feels. But it's not even as if it matter − loads of his team mates have got married over the last few years and no big deal was made about it. . . but they didn't marry a somewhat recognisable actress they weren't previously dating. And who-

Oh _fuck it_.

With his phone clutched in his hand, Jonny jogs into the house. He finds Gemma sorting through a pile of damp clothes in the middle of the kitchen table; it's nice to see that her 'sorting laundry' excuse wasn't just a line to let her walk away from him. Jonny goes for the jugular while Gemma's pairing up socks, "How did you tell people?"

Whatever feelings Jonny had given her a minute or two before, they don't come back. Gemma now stares at Jonny like he's lost it, even though she's the one with her hand inside a purple polka dotted sock. She stands facing him with her eyebrow raised, his mouth open and breath coming loudly from it. He manages to count to sixteen in his head slowly before he decides to not let her reply, suddenly filling the space with, "I just want to know what to tell Stan. And PR, since he'll probably tell them to call me. And the guys."

Gemma clucks her tongue off her back teeth and puts the now-bundled together purple sock and its pair down on the table. "Hannah and Nick told most of my friends, if I'm honest. But for the ones they missed, I sent out a group text and waited for them to reply to me."

Jonny feels like that is cheating but it is also an unbearably good idea.

He leaves again with a quick 'thanks', since Gemma left him alone to do it in the first place and Jonny understands how boundaries and space are sometimes needed in a relationship. It takes him a solid fifteen minutes of staring at his phone, switching it from palm to palm as if weighing it against itself, for him to come up with how to phrase the text.

He deletes the first.

And then the second and third and fourth variation of it. He only deletes some of the fifth, liking how the first half of the sentence goes but unsure about the ending. Should he make a joke at the end or would they all think he was joking? What about emoticons and smiley faces?

When he turns back to the kitchen window, seeking out Gemma for assistance, she's no longer there. Jonny sighs, deletes the winky smiley to replace it with a regular smiley, and finally. _Finally_ clicks send.

 

 

+

 

 

Stan texts back _if this was anyone else i'd assume they were joking._

 

 

+

 

 

Kaner just texts back _who?_ and Jonny groans loudly, making Gemma look up from the magazine she's reading to sigh at him. He leans his head on her shoulder, catching a glimpse of the mango and rocket salad recipe on the page in front of her, and asks, "You told people who you married, right?"

"Yeah. It felt kinda important."

She doesn't sound too hurt, if even at all, and Jonny turns is face so his nose butts her arm.

 

 

+

 

 

Sharpy calls him. He asks the exact same thing as Kaner but phrases it differently. "Who the fuck did you find to marry you so quickly?"

"Gemma," he answers and Sharpy makes a soft, deflating noise. "It was her idea." _At first_ Jonny omits, since he kinda took her idle idea and ran with it. 

Sharpy starts laughing. Then proceeds to not stop for a good two minutes. Somewhere in the background there's a dog barking. Jonny frowns. He imagines Abby sitting somewhere near her husband, the girls playing next to her and that is enough to stop Jonny calling Sharpy names loudly. He just waits it out, waits so long in silence Gemma comes back into the room with a confused look on her face, Jonny mouthing back 'Sharpy' in reply.

"Is she alright?" Sharpy asks, the last strains of his laughter petering out.

Jonny's not sure what he means by 'alright' but rather than ask for clarification, he goes for, "Yes." Then, with a quick sigh to prelude it, Jonny tells Sharpy all about everything he has done since arriving in London, how Gemma's friends are great but the wait in line for Van Gogh's sunflowers isn't and how he proposed to her in the gallery − it was the tube station right after the gallery, which it isn't nearly as romantic as Jonny wants Sharpy to believe it was, but Sharpy doesn't need to know that − and, yeah, she's perfectly _alright_ now. While he's explaining about Tamsin's toast, Sharpy cuts in with, "So- wait." And he starts laughing all over again.

It takes less time for him to stop, mostly because Sharpy wants to tell Jonny, "It's like the _opposite_ of getting married while trashed in Vegas," and then laugh a little more, quieter, less rude this time, like he's thinking 'only Jonathan Toews' in a fond sorta way.

"Yeah," Jonny agrees, not bothering to wait for Sharpy to stop laughing.

"Good job," Sharpy says and Jonny's struck by how honest and proud Sharpy sounds in this moment. It makes him stumble, makes his next sentence come out broken and jerky, the syntax all fucked up on the second attempt he gets it better:

"It seemed like the right thing to do. You know? She's- we. It just made sense."

Sharpy hums back at him affirmatively, says, "Yeah. I guess it does for you."

 

 

+

 

 

Jonny hadn't really thought about it. Sure, he had married Gemma and he knew he had the NHL awards coming up but he had never put them together in his head, never thought 'I should bring my wife along to the award show' until Stan suggests he should do that.

It is only a suggestion. Even if Stan hadn't added the caveat 'it's just a suggestion' to his sentence, Jonny knows Stan Bowman well enough to know he isn't going to force Jonny into anything. Jonny tells him, "I'll ask her," because that is all he can do, since Jonny knows Gemma's got a stupidly full schedule coming up for July and August (and September and October after that) so maybe she hasn't got time for a trip to Vegas with him.

Stan ends their call with another 'congratulations!' and Jonny smiles, nearly throwing back 'you too!' but manages to catch himself and stop it.

Gemma is upstairs when he finds her, standing on a step ladder to change the light bulb in the hall. It had exploded with a loud bang this morning during breakfast, Jonny jerking on his chair in shock and upsetting Christopher, who had been lounging silently on the floor behind him, and Gemma's automatic reaction was to soothe the cat, then look at Jonny as an afterthought. Now, Jonny puts his hand on the ladder to steady it, his fingers brushing Gemma's calf, and she looks down at him, a little shocked and then a little thankful.

He coughs, to clear his throat, preparing, but let's Gemma finish what she is doing before bringing it up.

She gets off the ladder, as small as it is, with a hand on Jonny's shoulder and a triumphant little noise as she drops down from being two foot taller than him to almost six inches smaller and Jonny takes a moment to take that in, to look at how tiny she actually is next to him.

Gemma clicks her fingers in his face to stop him when Jonny obviously lets the moment drag on too long.

"Did you come up here for a reason? I thought you were talking to Stan."

Jonny nods. "I was. I've a question."

Gemma frowns, like his words are ominous. It makes Jonny insist, "You can say 'no'," then, continuing softer, "I just- the NHL awards are coming up and Stan thinks maybe you should come to it with me and I think that- maybe he's right?" He doesn't mean to lilt it like a question, like he's unsure of himself, but it makes Gemma smile all the same, that warm sort of 'god you're such a dork' way she looks at him from time to time. "It's in Vegas too, which I personally feel is a nice touch. Considering."

They book Gemma onto his flight together, arguing mildly over whether she should take aisle side next to him or the other side of him, or even the other aisle, two seats separated from him, since all three seats around Jonny are free − "You booked yourself into the most awkward seat imaginable." "Someone else might have wanted the aisle." "There's forty three rows on the plane with four aisle seat opportunities on each, I'm sure they could manage. Why did you book the middle row anyway? What if you have to pee?" "So far there's no one next to me so it doesn't look like it's going to be a problem!" − and Jonny texts back a few of the guys while Gemma's rooting through her wardrobe for suitable outfits to wear to it.

Jonny lifts his head away from a text from Duncs as Gemma's wrestling her way into − or maybe out of, Jonny can't really tell much beyond the fact it's stuck on her head − a dress.

From inside it, she asks, "How dressy is this going to be?"

The way she clips the 't' of 'to' with her tongue has Jonny sighing as he pockets his phone and heads over to help her. Gemma accidentally clatters her hand into the side of his jaw but he plays it off silently. The zip buzzes down, the top of her head and her shoulders revealed to him, and he answers, "What's the scale?"

It's a dumb question, since Jonny's been to these award before while Gemma hasn't, but she's been to the BAFTAs and met the Queen of England, so Jonny would rather hear her scale than tell her whatever she wants is fine.

She is in the process of fixing the angle of her elbow, pulling her arm through the correct hole, when she replies, "Dazed and Confused party to MET Gala." She huffs as she attempts to fix the strap of the dress over her bra strap; it doesn't cover it at all and Gemma grumbles while Jonny stares not so subtly over her shoulder and down into the dip of the dress, the cut low enough to have her boobs almost spilling out, bra holding them in and all. She quickly scoops it off her head, elbow knocking into his chest. Jonny steps out of the danger zone and moves to take a look in her wardrobe.

"I don't know what anyone wears to a Dazed and Confused party, but it's definitely not MET Gala."

He lets his eyes rest on a blue dress in her wardrobe, inky satin that shimmers with silvers and purples in the light. His suit is black, so anything would match. Maybe the white one next to it could be nice too.

Gemma tells him, "I wore leggings and a leather jacket to the last Dazed and Confused party," as she leans into the wardrobe to rummage through it. Her hand lands on a red dress which, yeah, Jonny is cool with red, but Gemma moves on quickly from it.

In the end, she packs six even though it's _one night_ , Arterton, but Jonny stays quiet on the matter since focusing all his attention on Gemma fussing over which dress to wear is the best way he has found to ignore freaking out about bringing his new wife as he date to the NHL awards. It's a great tactic, distraction as a form of avoidance, although it makes Jonny a little jumpier on the flight than he would like to be − he spills a cup of beer over Gemma's lap while they're cruising thirty thousand feet over the Atlantic ocean, and after doing a half-ass job trying to clean up his mess with the two serviettes the steward gave them both with their drinks, Jonny tells Gemma that no, she can't change into the pyjama pants she has in her carry on backpack because even though there may be a few Elvises wandering around McCarran International, three-quarter length pyjama pants with Daisy Duck on them are not appropriate leg wear.

Gemma frowns at him, then sulks, her lap damp and sticky in the most awkward way, but she doesn't make Jonny move so she can go to the bathroom, which Jonny counts as a victory to him.

As an apology, he drags her suitcase along with his through the airport and gives her his hoodie to tie around her waist. The half angry, half thankful smile she shoots him in return − facial expressions are all he's getting now but at least she's looking at him − is enough.

She's talking to him again by 4pm, the two of them a little fucked up on time differences but Gemma's lap isn't damp or beer stained anymore and Jonny feels like he could eat an entire cow, so she takes his hand and lets him lead her towards this place he knows with good steak and excellent mac and cheese − one of Gemma's favourites and Jonny is still trying to apologise for throwing alcohol over her on the flight and then making her sit covered in it − the two of them shuffling along through the crowds.

They get stopped more than once by hockey fans.

The city is milling with them, excited over the impending award show, and Gemma just smiles kindly at them and stands waiting as Jonny poses for photos and signs things. He pulls her back to him, tucking her in underneath his arm after she takes a photo for two sisters and their younger brother, a boy of about seven who looks up at Gemma with a bright, wide smile and says, "Thank you," so politely.

"You're welcome," she returns and the two girls share a look at her accent. Jonny pulls her in closer, so close she has to turn to move with him, and he gets a wash of protectiveness over her. "Have a nice evening."

The three promise they will, nodding like Jonny will be mad if they don't even though it was Gemma who said it. She gives them a wave, watching them dash back to their parents before nudging Jonny to start walking again, since he's the one leading, and she says, "I liked that."

"Liked what?"

Gemma just smiles at him, keeping the answer to herself even as Jonny jostles her for it.

 

 

+

 

 

Surprisingly she doesn't order the mac and cheese when the waitress comes to take their order; she does have pasta, but it's tomato, while Jonny sticks to his first choice and orders himself a steak. They disagree on the wine for a few moments while the waiter stands there, waiting for them to make their choice. It's a nice dinner, Gemma only stealing one piece of asparagus off of Jonny's plate but Jonny helps himself to the last sixth of her pasta when Gemma says she's done.

He orders dessert because fuck it, that's why, and the waiter brings two spoons; Gemma doesn't have any and Jonny doesn't try and make her. It's cheesecake and Jonny is weirdly possessive over it whenever he orders it.

They walk back to the hotel the long way, Jonny pointing out various landmarks along the way. Somehow, Gemma has never been to Vegas before − although she does inform him, "Brandon asked me to come and see them play out here but I couldn't go," and it takes Jonny a minute to realise she's talking about Brandon Flowers from _the Killers_ because, yes, those are the type of people Gemma hangs out with sometimes − and even though it isn't Chicago or Winnipeg, Jonny feels like he's repaying her for all the sightseeing she went on with him in London. She's on her phone a lot while they're walking but whenever Jonny speaks, she politely looks up and pays attention to whatever he's pointing at, smiling and maybe asking a question if she has one.

They stop at the Bellagio Fountains, leaning elbow to elbow on the railings and watching them together. Jonny's always thought they were pretty fucking impressive. . . Ok, maybe he has stood there a couple of times and imagined himself as George Clooney in _Ocean's 11_ a few times but no one needs to know that.

He casts a look Gemma's direction and thinks this is the closest he's gotten to it.

She'd be a good Brad Pitt, whatever Brad's character was in that movie. Honestly, if Jonny was going to commit a federal offense- ok, it would more than likely be with Kaner and because Sharpy told them to do it, but if he could personally pick who he could get arrested with after stealing something of high value, it would be Gemma. Since Gemma's got that charming British accent and can actually throw a proper punch, a life skill Jonny has yet to acquire.

Maybe he drank too much wine at dinner?

Luckily − _unfortunately_ , Jonny's not sure − the train of thought is broken when Gemma's phone buzzes in her pocket again and she groan, leaning her forehead down on her overlapping wrists in front of herself.

"Who is it?" Jonny enquires.

He nudges at Gemma's arm with his elbow until she lifts her head and pays attention to him again. She answers, "Just Kaner."

Jonny can't say he's shocked. On more than one occasion, Kaner has prompted a 'groan and bury his face in his hands' reaction out of Jonny. But it hits him weirdly, around the chest, that Kaner's texting Gemma. He swallows, nodding like 'right, ok', then asks, "Everything alright?"

To shrug Gemma has to lift her face off her arms and properly stand up. Jonny watches the movement of the muscles in her shoulder work under her shirt. "You know, just Kaner stuff."

"Is he ok?"

"Yeah, fine."

They continue their conversation as they head back to the hotel. The Cromwell isn't that far from the Bellagio but when another two families stop them to take photos with Jonny − one mother asks, "We aren't disturbing you, are we?" as she thrusts the camera towards Gemma and Jonny just has to roll his eyes − it takes them longer than it should to get back. They're heading in through the door to reception when someone calls out Gemma's name; she's in the middle of complaining about Kaner's terrible grammar at the time and because of this, she ends up frowning at the person who called her. Or rather, people. Behind them, parked about ten metres away, is a taxi full of girls, a bunch of them leaning out of the open door and calling to Gemma.

Jonny shrugs. He can wait to hear about Kaner's bad grammar until they're in their room.

He watches her head over but doesn't follow.

One of them makes her laugh, Gemma's head falling backwards and exposing the long column of her throat, and Jonny finds himself smiling at the sight. That's when the redhead to Gemma's left chooses to point at him, which makes Gemma turn around with a nod. She says something but Jonny is too far away to catch it; it's about him, but that's all he knows.

There's a pink lip gloss smear across Gemma's cheek from a brunette kissing her when she comes back. Jonny almost moves to wipe it away, but aborts it when the guy at the doors looks at him, his look equal parts admonishing and respect.

Jonny huffs and holds the door for Gemma.

"They were nice," she says once they're in the lift. Jonny watches her smile. "Amber thought she had spotted me earlier but Sophie told her it couldn't be me."

"Is she the one who kissed you?" It seems the most logical thing to say next.

Gemma shakes her head as she leans against the wall outside their room, Jonny rummaging in his pockets for the key card. "That was Alicia. She was a really good hugger."

Jonny laughs. And the door opens.

They're barely inside the room when Gemma's phone buzzes again and when Jonny is flicking on the light switch, he glances over Gemma's shoulder and sees Kaner's name at the top of the screen. She asks, "Do you think telling Kaner we're having sex so I'll talk to him later will shut him up?"

Jonny hopes he doesn't look too taken aback.

He goes for, "No. Just tell him we're doing something boring − you say we're having sex and he will ask you for details about it later."

Gemma wrinkles her nose, mildly disgusted.

"Has he ever asked anyone else?"

Jonny deigns to not answer. Gemma crows in glee, "That means he has!" and Jonny settles on the bed, grabbing the remote while she's tap-tap-tapping a reply into her phone.

"Don't ask him," he says, as an afterthought.

Gemma knees her way onto the bed beside him, shoes kicked off and her jacket about to follow. "Ask him what?" she returns, dropping her phone screen down onto the bed to shirk off the rest of her sleeve; apparently, it's a two hand job right now.

"About me fucking people."

She frowns. She settles in closer than Jonny was expecting. "I wouldn't."

She says it so sternly it startles Jonny, his mouth falling open but he doesn't gasp in shock. He _doesn't_. Gemma's mouth moves into a smile, just for him, and Jonny just has to look at her. Between them − practically under Jonny's thigh, he has no idea how that happened − Gemma's phone vibrates with a message once more and Jonny replies with the only thing he can:

"You better not."

She laughs again.

Jonny leaves her to it, her fingers moving over the screen quickly while he tries to find something to watch. He tries to watch the news for a minute or two but it just makes him feel weird. The sports channels are all pretty much the same; he finds gold and stays on that but Gemma looks up when it's been on for more than two minutes and Jonny feels obligated to change it. There's a _SpongeBob_ rerun on some kids cartoons channel but Jonny's already seen this episode fifty times so he moves on quickly after Squidward frowns on screen. There's one music channel and it isn't MTV which is weird. Jonny isn't really a fan of the song they're currently playing but after he leaves it on for more than three seconds, Gemma starts humming along with it, lyrics occasionally coming out of her mouth.

Eventually, after another few half hearted lines and a bit of a chorus, it changes, and Gemma faces Jonny to ask, "Kaner wants to know what our song is. I told him we were watching Kate Bush and he asked if it was our song."

Jonny looks at the screen, finally realising that, yep, that's Kate Bush on the screen alright.

"Uh."

"I don't think it should be our song," Gemma states. "Maybe if it was _Hounds of Love_. Or _Wuthering Heights_ , in an ironic way."

Jonny's almost two hundred percent sure Gemma's just used 'ironic' incorrectly. He squints at her, pushing his features together in a 'really?' kinda way, then says, " _Wuthering Heights_? That song is terrible."

Gemma looks hurt and appalled and confused all at once. She even gasps. "How very dare you? _Wuthering Heights_ is a great song. I fucking love that song − one year for Halloween, my mum made me a dress like Kate's from the video and I kicked my sister in the face trying to do the cartwheel on the couch. I know the whole dance."

Jonny definitely believes that. In fact, it's a very cute image, tiny Gemma kicking Hannah in the face while wearing a white, floaty dress. But Jonny has to draw the line somewhere. He says, "Our song is not being _Wuthering Heights_ ; Cathy is dead, she married someone else and Heathcliff is losing his mind."

"Fine."

He doesn't feel like he's really won though, when Gemma goes back to texting Kaner and the song that followed Kate Bush enters the middle-8. "How about," he starts, and Gemma gives him her full attention once more. "Whatever the next song is, after this one, you can tell Pat it's our song."

Gemma goes for, "What if it's _Wuthering Heights_?"

"It won't be."

"Alright, fine. Whatever the next song is, even if it's _Wuthering Heights_. That's our song."

Jonny grits his teeth. It will be _Wuthering Heights_ over his dead body. Unless the weird retro music channel they're watching is doing a Kate Bush retrospective at the moment but a quick glance at the screen tells Jonny no, they probably aren't since that's- Jonny's not sure who the fuck that is but it isn't Kate Bush and the next song is absolutely not going to be _Wuthering Heights_.

The channel goes to an ad break just to add to the tension in the room.

Gemma texts Kaner while some guy talks about car insurance on screen. She's probably telling Kaner what a jerk Jonny is, not letting her have _Wuthering Heights_ as their song but he isn't backing down off this one. Gemma can go and complain to his _mom_ about how much of a dick Jonny is for insulting Kate Bush's iconic masterpiece that inspired Gemma's Halloween costume some year during her childhood or early-teen years, but it's a dumb song.

Two women finish up holding babies in an advert that may be about cell phones or baby powder, Jonny is a bit lost on the narrative, and chords start up. He gives it two seconds and motions at the screen. "There you go, Hall and Oates," he says.

Gemma shakes her head. There's a quirk of a smile around the side of her mouth and her reply comes out tainted with a laugh, "10cc."

Jonny turns away from her face and yes, sure enough, there at the side of the screen is the name of the band, Gemma is correct, and the song title. _I'm Not In Love_. Jonny turns back to Gemma with a look that can only be described as horrified. She cracks, laughter spilling out of her mouth. He snatches away her phone before she can text anything to Kaner.

Jonny kinda wishes it was _Wuthering Heights_ now.

Gemma laughs until she topples over, falling down into the pillows behind her. "This is too perfect." Jonny turns back to glare at her but she must see something on his face, because she kinda stops laughing for a second, gently patting his arm and saying, "I'm sorry, I know. You wish I was in love with you."

And- ok. No.

Jonny's definitely not going to think about that.

 

 

+

 

 

The award ceremony comes and goes without much fuss. Ok, Jonny is anxious for a moment during the arrivals but Gemma's hand finds his arm, looping in under his elbow and squeezing gently once it's popped out the other side and Jonny turns to see her smiling at him and that's enough to settle him until they get inside. No one says anything too out of the blue on anything, mostly asking about the wedding in a 'we're just checking we've got the right details' way instead of trying to pry for anything. It's nice. Weirdly. But it is- nice is the only way Jonny can describe it; it's nice that Gemma's there, wearing green and standing smiling next to him while Jonny talks to press and Sid, and it's nice when Duncs finds them and introduces himself to Gemma with a handshake then a hug, like it's the first time he's met her, and Gemma laughs into his shoulder and claps her hand on his back. It's nice. And that's it.

Jonny drinks one, maybe two too many glasses of champagne during the reception-after party thing, knowing he shouldn't as he takes another glass of it but when they're giving out the shit for free, he isn't going to turn it down.

They get back to the hotel alright, Jonny pretending to be sober enough to make it to the lift without her help but his knees buckle a bit before he gets there. Gemma swoops in with a flick of her skirt and catches him before he can fully reach the ground. She doesn't let him go until they're back in their room. And Jonny all but flops onto the bed, starfishing out across the covers while Gemma busies herself getting him water and asking him, "Do you need me to bring the bin in from here, are you going to throw up?" from the bathroom.

He tells her he's fine, that there's nothing really in his stomach to throw up. Then says, "C'mere, Gem."

She places the glass of water down on the bedside table, one knee on the bed as she looks at Jonny's face. "What?" he asks and tugs her. He tugs her down, making her groan at him that he's a shit as his arm finds itself tucked under her back as she lies beside him. Gemma rolls her eyes as she moves into a better position, lining them up so they're practically nose to nose. Jonny moves to shrug − a brush off movement for a sentence he hasn't verbalised yet but he thinks he's drunk enough to pull it off − but sorta- forgets how to do it? It starts off fine, kinda, but he loses it in the middle, ending up headbutting Gemma a bit, cracking their cheeks off one another. He laughs it off as Gemma does the same. And her nose touches his. A short, tiny movement that has Jonny's face feeling like he needs to itch it. He means to retaliate, he does, he means to fix it and knock their noses together and perhaps say 'boop' or something equally dumb. But again he goes wrong, his body forgetting how a human body is meant to move, and this time he just crowds into her space, all wrong.

It's all wrong.

When he tries to fix it, he realises his arm is still trapped under her and when he goes to ask her to move, their mouths bump together once. And then again.

Jonny rolls his shoulder, hand grazing her bare spine where the back of her dress hangs low and open, and hitches her. He has been steadily losing feeling in his shoulder for the last two minutes but he manages to hitch Gemma up and from there, she takes his cue, evening herself out over his chest, sliding towards the centre. Her legs shifts against his, thighs pressed close, and everything − her mouth, his hand on her skin, their legs, even his half numb shoulder − sends a slow warmth through his limbs, down and back up again as he finally cops on, fuck, they're kissing.

Fuck.

Gemma must realise it at the same time, snapping out of it and raising her lips just out of Jonny's reach.

Jonny's brain is operating on delay now, unable to comprehend anything other than the way Gemma licks the corner of her mouth. Because they've been. Shit- yeah. "If I," he says abortively, and Gemma seems to agree, letting out a shaky breath that dies when Jonny leans up as far as he can to catch her mouth with his again. This time, when he tries to move the arm Gemma has pinned, she lets him. He places it firmer on her back, properly inside the material of her dress now, pushing with his palm to get her to move in more. Gemma reciprocates by moving one leg over his, knees either side of his thighs.

Everything is easy and lazy and. Nice. Like earlier at the awards and during the after party, nothing breaking the mood they set early on in the evening together. They're pressed close from everywhere, mouth and chest and thigh. Gemma makes a sharp, higher-pitched noise in her throat as Jonny digs blunt fingernails into her back, pinkie dragging across her skin, and he chases the noise, changing the angle of his head to kiss her better. All of his muscles feel somehow relaxed and wound too tight simultaneously, anchored under Gemma's weight with his eyes closed against the soft light of the room.

It's only the need to breathe that stops them. The second time they break apart Jonny takes a huge gulp of air while Gemma slips to side once more, pressing her forehead to his chin.

They're both breathing really fast.

Next to him, he hears her trying to catch her breath. It sounds ragged, but Jonny knows he isn't faring any better. Unsure of what to say, he stares at the light on the ceiling. Then shuts his eyes against it, patterns and shapes moving in blurs behind his eyelids. He whispers, "Gem?"

"Shit." And Jonny feels her roll away.

She doesn't leave the bed entirely and Jonny doesn't open his eyes to check how far she's gone. At least now he's getting the circulation back in his arm properly. He focuses on that and on inhaling, because better ideas elude him right now. He lies perfectly still, so fucking still but Gemma isn't moving either, and after another minute or two of it it's just easier to turn onto his side. Away from her. Because- fuck, he can't follow after her since she's made it so clear she doesn't want him to. It's probably time to go to sleep. His mouth is dry and he knows there's a glass of water next to the bed for him but he leaves it alone.

He sleeps until well after noon, Gemma not bothering to wake him when she gets up to shower, but she hands him a cup of coffee when he stirs fully awake, blinking too many times at her to try and focus on her face. She doesn't bring up the night before and neither does Jonny and that's fine too.

 

 

+

 

 

After some minor fussing with packing − "They won't fit in my case, Jonathan!" "Well, they fit in there on the way here so they're going to fit in there now, Gemma-Louise!" − Jonny sees Gemma off to the airport then catches a flight back to Winnipeg for himself. He gets home and texts his mom and David, David sending him a nice 'welcome home!' text while his mom asks _is gemma with you?_ and Jonny feels a little bad telling her she isn't.

They spend the second half of their first month married living on different continents.

There's a lot of texts − including the afternoon where Gemma texts Jonny the lyrics to every Fleetwood Mac single, then immediately replies right after with _that was nick >:C_ and Jonny screencaptures the entire thing for posterity − and the occasional selfie. Jonny feels like his don't compare to Gemma's that well; Gemma sends him one photo of her with Mads Mikkelsen one afternoon, then follows it with a photo of herself on the Amalfi coast, while Jonny's photos are mostly 'here's me and a lake', 'another shot of me and the lake' and 'here is a fish I caught' but Gemma seems happy to receive every one.

He calls her on Skype one afternoon, completely forgetting about the time difference, and Gemma answers the call while loudly shout-singing Carly Simon at the screen.

Hannah's face pops over her sister's shoulder, headbutting Gemma out of the way, and Jonny laughs, more at himself, and says, "Hello Artertons."

"She won't sing on stage," Hannah announces, then turns to call someone else over. "We're trying to get her to sing but she won't. She won't even come up with us." Jonny vaguely recognises the ashy blonde pixie cut as Pixie, who pouts at Jonny alongside Hannah until he sighs. Gemma seems unaffected by their faces.

"I don't want to sing."

"You keep _singing_ ," the other two fire back and Jonny has to laugh.

She calls him a few nights later just as Jonny's getting in from a couple drinks with the guys. He feels sweaty and exhausted, his t-shirt tugged lower over one clavicle from Dan tugging him towards the cabs, but Gemma's voice is soft and soothing as she potters around her own kitchen making tea. "Have a good night?" she asks, punctuating her sentence with the sound of the cutlery drawer closing.

Jonny takes a second to think back on it. There was a lot of beer and some guys at the bar sent a bottle of tequila over, which was really fucking nice of them. He hums a noise, then says properly, "Yeah, it was nice."

She laughs, soft and easy, and Jonny hears the sound of her pouring water into a cup.

"Good," she says, sounding like she means it. Jonny rummages for a glass in his press. He wants water. He really fucking wants water. "Meet anyone nice?"

Jonny stalls. He clatters his knuckles into the side of the door, hissing, but quickly recovers. It stings but he wants water, so it's easy enough to ignore it. Also, Gemma just threw him that, so most of his brain is focusing on how to correctly answer that question. There _had_ been a blonde at the bar when Jonny had gone up for the second round − they chatted for a while, her smile undemanding but solid, like she would have been down with anything Jonny wanted to do. He probably could have kissed her, yeah, but at the time it hadn't really crossed his mind. Now, with Gemma's question hovering in his head, he thinks back on it and wonders if he's allowed even look.

They are married. But they aren't _married_ -married. Which sounds ridiculous but that's the only way Jonny can explain it − and he has explained it, multiple times, mostly to Sharpy and David, in fact he's explained it so many times to Sharpy at this point that the last time he was in the middle of it, Jonny had sighed and gone, "Go get Abby, she'll get it." − but even still. Right now, that feels wrong.

"I- not really."

There's a pause. A really fucking long pause where Gemma drinks her tea quietly and Jonny makes it to the fridge to fill up his glass with water. He takes a large swallow of it, the sound echoing loud and wet down the phone at Gemma. Then, he asks, "Are we allowed date other people?" just to check.

She takes a while to answer, long enough for Jonny to regret using 'date' as the verb, but she sounds solid and steady when she says, "Yeah. I mean- it's not like we are." It might be how tired he is twinned with how newly awake she is, or maybe Jonny just _wants_ to hear it in her voice, but Gemma sounds a little sad when she says it. Maybe even a touch disappointed.

Jonny breathes out.

"We're just married," he throws out, aiming for a joke because it's all he's got right now.

He feels awkward, thrown, unsure of himself. Now that he's had his water, he wants to go to bed. Gemma hums, neither a laugh nor a dismissal, and says, "It makes sense, I guess. To see other people."

Jonny wants to disagree but can't work out how.

He could bring up Vegas, after the awards, when they'd ended up kissing. That would be a quick and simple, mostly painless way to dismantle Gemma's side of the conversation. But- it feels too easy, too mean, as if bringing it up would. . . Jonny doesn't know, _cheapen_ them or something. He's had too much to drink and needs to be in bed, his head can't come up with logic or reasons for anything right now. But he wants to tell Gemma she's wrong.

He wonders idly if she's trying to prove a point. Like, maybe this is her way of bringing up what happened in Vegas.

_God._ Jonny doesn't know.

He really doesn't fucking know.

 

 

+

 

 

For their one month "anniversary", Sharpy and Seabs compile a joint email for Jonny of all their favourite Jonny-and-Gemma moments since they first became friends. It's mostly a bunch − ok, like fifty − pictures of them, both professionally photographed candids and blurry camera photos of them together taken by people spotting them out and a few from various Twitter and Instagram accounts of people they know.

Jonny doesn't know whether he should laugh or cry. They obviously went to a lot of effort. And in a stupid, odd kinda way, it's sweet.

The first thirty photos aren't anything too interesting, just photos of Jonny and Gemma near one another when people started paying attention to the fact they knew one another. Underneath one of them, a photo of Sharpy and Gemma looking confusedly at Jonny, Sharpy has written the caption 'I like to call this one Two Hotties Can't Work Out How Jonathan Toews Crashed Their Hotty Party' and Jonny rolls his eyes after he first reads it, noting it down in his head to get him back for it later. Of course Sharpy's favourite photo of Jonny and Gemma together would include him.

Seabs' favourite photo of them together takes Jonny by surprise. Because Seabs' favourite photo is one of the newer ones, since Jonny and Gemma got married, and Seabs, being Seabs, got sentimental about it.

He's even gone as far as to crudely draw a red heart around their faces, with a few smaller, pink ones floating around beside it.

Ignoring Seabs' artwork, Jonny looks at it for a moment. It's from Vegas, the night before they went to awards; it must have been taken by one of the fans they met while walking back from the restaurant without them realising − it would usually annoy Jonny to find out someone did that, especially someone who was that close to them, but Jonny has to admit that it is a very cute picture. He's in the process of wrapping his arm around Gemma's shoulders and her face is tilted up to his, a smile on her mouth. Jonny feels himself smiling at it.

He scrolls down a bit further to read Seabs' caption.

'Gemma looking at Jonny like he hung the moon for her :')'. Jonny scrolls back up and, fuck, yeah it does. Jonny stares at the photo and wonders if- Jesus. Does Gemma look at him like that a lot? And if she does, how has he never noticed her looking at him like that before? He stares at the photo and tells himself it's a trick of the light, it was a momentary, tiny, insignificant thing that someone managed to catch on film and a millisecond later Gemma didn't look like that anymore. 

It isn't a big deal.

Nope.

Jonny keeps going through the photos, waiting for another moment of Gemma looking at him like that to pop up but it never does. He nods when the photos come to an end, like, yeah, see, it was nothing. It was nothing, just a silly thing, no need to get upset about it. Or disappointed that it didn't happen again.

At the end of the email, there's a YouTube link. At least it claims to be a link to YouTube but Jonny is wary of trusting any links Sharpy sends him after that time he promised Jonny a dog video and when he'd clicked it, it was a link to porn starring two guys who looked uncomfortably like Jonny and Kaner. But Seabs was a part of this email and if Seabs can write cute things about Jonny hanging the moon in the sky for Gemma, then he won't have let Sharpy link to anymore doppelganger gay porn.

It _is_ a YouTube link and Jonny breathes a sigh of relief as the first few seconds of blurry lights and getting the camera angle right start up. According to the video's title, it's a video of Gemma, but there's no description underneath that to further explain what it may be about. Jonny recognises her laugh before she appears on screen; her smile is all teeth when she turns up, laughing again at something the redhead beside her says. Jonny kinda recognises them − the one of the left looks like the girl leaning outta the taxi outside the Cromwell that night.

The girls and Gemma just chat for a minute, Gemma telling them that yes, she's enjoying Vegas, it's very pretty and colourful but she's just here for a couple days. Then, the one behind the camera asks, "Is that Jonathan Toews?" and Gemma's face turns out of the shot, looking back over her shoulder at him. Jonny remembers her looking at him − he didn't know they were filming it, but he remembers the moment. Gemma turns back to the camera with a soft grin on her face, and even with the terrible lighting and slightly fuzzy phone camera quality of the shot, Jonny can make out the small crinkles beside her eyes from her smile.

The Gemma on screen says, "Yeah, it is. He's- we're here for the NHL awards."

One of the girls asks, "Are you his date?"

"I'm- yes. I'm here to support him." Gemma pauses, looking at the person to the left of the camera for a second. "He asked me to come sorta last minute and it's important to him, so I said yes, and he seems happy enough with that."

"Does he make you happy?" a voice asks.

Jonny pauses the video. He needs a second to breathe. And maybe he's also kinda a tiny teeny little bit scared what Gemma's answer is going to be. Is she going to say 'yes'? She's smiling so it's likely going to be a 'yes' that comes out of her mouth but if it is a 'yes', what then? Gemma, standing there, smiling and saying Jonny makes her happy, what does that mean?

Ok. Pausing the video seems to have made things worse.

Quickly, Jonny hits play and the Gemma on screen goes, "Yeah. He does, he makes me happy," cutting off the end of her own sentence with a laugh, her head dipping down like she's embarrassed with what she has just said. But she doesn't stop smiling, which means it's true. Jonny makes her happy.

He would say the same if anyone asked him about her. He would say that, yes, she makes him really happy because he-

_Fuck._

No, his brain isn't going there. He closes his laptop down without closing down the browser but that doesn't seem that important right now. He needs to move, he has to get off this chair and- go outside right now. He needs to go outside and not let his brain finish that thought. He practically kicks over the coffee table as he moves towards the door, taking giant steps to put space between himself and the laptop quicker.

With a shake of his head and click of the latch on the door, Jonny grumbles, "Fucking Seabs and Sharpy." Because who else is he going to blame?

 

 

+

 

 

Gemma calls him while he's jogging. His breathing makes his 'hello' come out heavier, more gruff than he means it to, but Gemma chooses to ignore him, asking straight out, "Hey, did you get an email from Sharpy? Cos I can't work out if it's sweet or creepy."

He tells her he did.

Gemma hums. "Did you see the video they linked? Could I have sounded like more of a loser in it? I think I was coming down with something while we were there because my voice doesn't usually sound like that, does it?"

Jonny goes, "No, it sounded normal."

And then hangs up.

 

 

+

 

 

For the second month of their marriage, Jonny doesn't talk to Gemma. She tries to talk to him − because that's how it works, when only one person knows that two people aren't talking to one another, the one who is completely unaware of what's going on keeps trying to initiate contact and conversations between them − texting him and emailing him. She calls him twice in one day trying to catch him, once when Jonny knows it's late as fuck in England, but he just stares at his phone and waits for it to stop ringing. He doesn't try to silence it, on the off chance he does a fat thumb fumble and answers the call instead. He lets it go until it stops and goes back to making himself dinner.

 

 

+

 

 

Jonny contemplates not answering.

His finger hovers above the red 'decline' button for ten, twenty, almost thirty seconds before he chokes at the last minute and answers. He quickly says, "Hello," and prepares himself for the worst.

Gemma doesn't sound as angry or annoyed as she could. Honestly, if she wanted to yell at him right now, he'd be a little taken aback but would completely accept it after a minute. He has been avoiding her; there's twenty seven missed calls, countless unanswered texts and three ignored emails in the past two weeks, and if Jonny was in her place, he _would be_ annoyed. But Gemma- Gemma just sounds resigned. And a little tired when she finally says, "Oh good, you've decided to talk to me now."

He could apologise. But he doesn't.

"Just so you know, I'm in Heathrow, waiting for a flight to Winnipeg to board because." She stops to sigh. "Because I don't want this to keep going on the way it is and I don't know how else to handle a problem other than head on. So, tell me right now if I should bother getting on this flight because if I do, I'm gonna be there in eleven hours − Sharpy gave me your parents address, I will turn up there."

It isn't what Jonny was expected when he answered this call at all. He's somewhat frightened. Is this what people mean when they say he's pushy and insistent about things?

He swallows. Then says, "Ok. I'll be there at the airport. To pick you up."

She says 'thanks' and it's the last thing Jonny expects.

"Uh. How did you know I'm at my parents?" He's curious.

Gemma laughs, the hollow echo of it double by the static through the line. "Lucky guess," she answers.

"Right."

"Yeah."

"I'll see you in eleven hours then." She hangs up without saying anything else, leaving Jonny sitting on his bed, holding his phone in front of him and staring at the screen. He has to practice breathing normally again, get used to it until it's regulated and he can stand up without throwing up. Yeah. That's how he feels. Like he's about to throw up.

Miraculously, he makes it down the stairs and into the living room without getting sick all over his mom's beige carpets, but it's give or take for a second there half way down. Only his mom is still up, sitting in her chair, reading a book; she looks up when he steps in, coughing awkwardly and slouching his shoulders. She raises an eyebrow at his posture but kindly doesn't say anything about it. "Cheri?" she asks.

Jonny breathes out. Then back in again. Fuck. He has no idea how to explain anything right now.

"I just spoke to Gemma," he begins, and somehow he doesn't spontaneously combust by saying her name. He feels stupid, so fucking stupid about the whole thing but from his chair, his mom just eyes him quietly, almost cautiously, and lets him continue. "She's coming to Winnipeg."

His mom breaks into a smile.

Jesus, Jonny wants to run.

"That's wonderful − your father and I were wondering when we were going to get to meet her." She tuts, sitting forwards on her chair and reaching for one of the multiple floral notepads on the coffee table. Jonny watches, his mouth falling open, unsure of what to say. His mom fills the silent space for him. "Is there anything she doesn't eat? You haven't mentioned but to be safe, maybe I'll make a roast chicken- Gemma isn't vegetarian, is she?"

Jonny shakes his head. "No, she eats meat."

"Wonderful. I have no problem with people doing what they like with their lives, but having to cook more than one meal is so awkward, you know? Would an apple pie be alright or should I get peaches in?" Jonny waits for her to stop but the questions never stop coming. "What time is she arriving anyway? Oh, your father and I should go with you to pick her up, maybe we can call David as well − I know he's dying to meet her. Or do you want to go and get her on your own and we can set up some tea − she does drink tea, doesn't she? − here for when you get back? We can move dinner later then as w-"

He has to cut in.

"I was kinda hoping that. Uh, maybe- no one would be home when I brought her back."

It comes out of his mouth before he has properly thought through the syntax. His mom's face goes from delighted to disgusted to neutral in less than two seconds flat. Jonny thinks he's definitely about to throw up. _Fantastic_ , he just asked him mom to clear off with the rest of his family and she thinks he's going to have sex with Gemma in their house.

He takes four attempts at starting his sentence before he manages to get out, "It's just that it's a long flight and she might be tired and I don't want to overwhelm her. . ."

To her credit, his mom's face doesn't break.

Jonny would really like the floor to open up and swallow him right now, that would be fucking wonderful, thanks whichever deity is listening.

The floor stays intact.

His mom smiles, nodding, and says, "Whatever you want, Cheri."

"Thanks." And he exits the room, taking the stairs back to his bedroom two at time, before he can say anything else soul-destroyingly embarrassing.

 

 

+

 

 

He doesn't sleep that well, tossing and turning and waking up every two hours to check the clock while internally panicking about Gemma's impending arrival, but according to NASA and four other sleep specialist websites his checks on his phone while having his first cup of coffee, 3 hours sleep is more than enough to drive, but perhaps not for prolonged periods. His dad smiles at him over the breakfast table, a small hint of a smirk on his mouth and Jonny blanches. Christ, his mom told his fucking _dad_ about Jonny wanting them to clear out. Great, who else has she told? If she's told David, he's never setting foot outside this house again. Ever. After he picks up Gemma at the airport, because he told her he would and Jonathan Toews isn't about to pack out of a promise no matter how crippling the embarrassment is.

"See you later," he tells his parents on his way out, freshly showered and wearing a clean zip-up hoodie.

They both wave at him from their chairs, halting their conversation about what they're going to pick up at the hardware store while they're out to wish him a safe journey.

He grips the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles turn white.

Going to the airport is probably the worst idea Jonny has ever had, with a list of reasons a mile long. Firstly, he's Jonathan fucking Toews and this is Winnipeg airport − his chances of being recognised have increased exponentially since stepping out of his front door. Then there's the fact that he hasn't spoken to or even _seen_ Gemma properly in over a month. But he was the one to offer and if Gemma really didn't want him to come and get her, she would have said. He knows Gemma, knows that if she didn't want him to do this, he wouldn't be right now. But that doesn't stop it from being a terrible idea.

The flight turns out to be delayed by thirty minutes, something to do with a thunderstorm and 'sorry, sir, that's all we can tell you right now' from anyone he tries to ask. Arrivals is fucking cold, and his hoodie turns out to be the worst designed hoodie on the planet. His breaks his zip trying to get is closed and, while huffing about it and swearing to himself in French, a young boy in a Blackhawks snapback choosing that exact time to come over and ask for an autograph.

This sets off a chain reaction of people coming over to him, which wastes all the time until Gemma's flight lands but brings Jonny's stress levels up to near heart attack levels.

According to the screen on the wall, the flight from Heathrow can now collect their bags from carousel number four.

Jonny sits down on a chair, the back of his knees shocked by the cold of the plastic. Of course he chose today to wear shorts, the same day they turned the air conditioning down in Winnipeg Airport's arrivals hall to minus digits. But now he's sitting, with a clear view of everyone coming through the sliding doors from customs, and tapping the toe of his sneaker off the ground calms him a little, even if it does rock the rest of the seats in the row marginally.

Only one guy moves. No one else says anything.

Gemma comes through the doors with only a backpack on her shoulder and talking to some tall, red haired guy in a Doctor Who t-shirt. Jonny stands up at the sight of her, but lets them both come to him. "This is Jonny," is the first thing she says, gesturing towards Jonny and the broken zip of his hoodie. The redhead gawks at him in sorta awe.

"Wow," he sighs, almost dreamily. "You're taller than I thought you'd be."

Gemma laughs, just a soft, swift noise, and shakes her head. "No," she amends, "I'm just smaller than people think."

He leaves without much more fuss, wishing Gemma a nice trip and giving her a hug before he leaves. Jonny doesn't learn his name, and when it's just the two of them finally, he doesn't really want to press it. Gemma fixes her bag on her back and asks, "Which way?" Jonny looks at her properly for the first time since she arrived in front of him and notices the flush across her cheeks, the way her hair is flat on one side of her head, and how prominent her freckles are without any makeup on her face. She looks like she's about to fall asleep where she's standing − they've discussed her inability to properly sleep on any mode of transport − and instinctively, Jonny moves in and hugs her.

Without thinking, he says, "It's good to see you," as Gemma's arms come up and wrap around his back.

She says something back, but the words get mumbled out, pressed into the soft white cotton of his t-shirt so Jonny can't hear them, but she isn't pushing him away − she should be, Jonny knows if it were anyone else, they would be − and that's everything. Gemma comes back out for air to asks, "Which way is your car?"

With her still tucked in against him, Jonny gently leads her towards the exit, his arm awkwardly around her shoulders and the top of her backpack bumping against his forearm with every step. He's vaguely aware of people with their phones out, snapping photos as they go passed them, but Jonny doesn't have a twitter account and knows Gemma only checks hers once in a while, so if anything gets put up there, they'll more than likely miss it.

He doesn't mean to notice it, but as they walk down the ramp towards his car, Jonny catches the familiar smell of Gemma in his nose − she smells like deodorant and lightly of perfume, with the unmistakeable smell of 'eleven hours on a plane' on top of it all.

She must spot the way his nose wrinkles, because as they're placing her backpack into the back seat, she enquires, "Can I take a shower back at yours? I'm a bit stale."

Jonny nods.

"My parents are going to be out, so take all the time you need."

He reversing out of the space when he decides to bring up her luggage. "You only have a backpack," he states, aiming for nonchalant but probably a good deal off the mark. Gemma shrugs, staying quiet while he's pulling out, then replies with:

"I wasn't sure how long I was staying."

"My mom has invited you to join us for dinner tonight." It's a non-sequitur and also slightly redundant, since they'll be staying in his parents' house tonight. But Gemma accepts it good naturedly.

Until, "I don't have anything to wear. Not really. I mean-"

"It's ok, I have those two dresses."

Gemma looks at him. Since they're stopped at a red light, Jonny takes the chance to look at her too. She looks confused. Mostly tired. But definitely confused. He explains, "The ones from Vegas, that wouldn't fit in your suitcase when you were heading home."

Her mouth opens, realisation dawning, and Jonny shifts the car into first as the light goes green.

"One of those will be fine, I'm sure."

It comes out more flippantly and between that and how tired she is from flying, Gemma stays silent for the rest of the journey.

His dad's car is gone from the garage when they pull in, Gemma's seatbelt off before Jonny has even fully turned off the engine. She gets her backpack out of the back and makes a beeline for the door into the kitchen, but stops. Jonny eyes her. "No one's in," he reaffirms, jerking his chin towards the door. "Go on in."

"My shoes?" she asks.

"Just take them off and put them on a rack."

For whatever reason, that earns him a smile out of her. It's twinned with a roll of her eyes, but it's a fond gesture. "Be more Canadian," she says, pushing open the door carefully, like she still doesn't fully believe Jonny's telling her the truth about everyone being gone.

He returns, "You're in Canada, deal with it."

But once they're in the kitchen, nothing seems all that funny anymore, and all Jonny can do is direct Gemma to his bedroom.

He steps into the bathroom while she's putting her backpack on his bed, just to check that, yes, he did lock his brother's side of the door before he left to get her. They may be out now, but knowing his family and how long they've all been waiting to meet Gemma, Jonny should be thankful they haven't arrived back on top of them by now. Just to be safe, he jangles his brother's door handle once more, and comes back to his room. "Bathroom's all yours," he tells her, motioning behind him. "David's side is locked, so he won't come barging in accidentally on top of you."

Gemma nods.

"You said something about dresses."

This time Jonny nods. He tries to casually lean on the doorframe but ends up coming down funny on his shoulder, wincing with it. "Yeah," he says, speaking through the pain, "I got one of them dry cleaned, and you didn't wear the other one so they should be ok. Hopefully," and he laughs, trying to make a joke of it. Gemma doesn't bite. "I'll leave them out for you."

"Thanks."

 

 

+

 

 

His parents arrive back with David and about twelve different Winter blooming plant while Jonny's making himself a cup of coffee in the kitchen. The shower stopped a few minutes ago but Gemma still hasn't reappeared; part of Jonny wants to send his family back out, but that idea goes out the window when his mom hands him the car keys and tells him to get the three bags of mulch out of the trunk.

His dad comes to supervise. He asks, "Gemma get here alright?"

Jonny nods, readjusting two bags so they rest on top of one another. If he gets those both onto his shoulder, he thinks he can get the third under his arm and carry them all out to the backyard for his mom. "Yeah. Flight was delayed but not by too much. She's just taking a shower right now."

His dad hums thoughtfully. Jonny kinda wants to ask for help but knows if his mom sees his dad lifting anything, she'll fly into a fuss about him lifting things with his bad shoulder − there is a reason it was Jonny sent outside to get the mulch. "Your mom's been fussing," his dad says, leaning into his son as they move towards the door of the garage. "Don't tell her I told you, but I had to stop her buying a table centrepiece. More than once."

He smiles and Jonny cracks one back at him, more for his dad than anything else.

He's trying. Which means Jonny must look like he's about to pass out.

"I'm gonna bring these outside and see if she's ok, yeah?" He's talking about Gemma, not his mom, and his dad nods like he gets it. He gets a hand clapped on his back as he passes through the kitchen, his mom calling out to him something about 'you could have made more than one journey' but Jonny fobs it off with a quick, "It's fine, Maman."

He wipes the bit of mulch that escaped from one of the bags off on his shorts, contemplating running upstairs to check on Gemma and changing while he's up there, but when he comes back inside, he finds Gemma standing in the archway and his family slowly crowding in around her.

Jonny's not sure which way to go to dive in and stop them. But Gemma seems to be handling it ok.

With a frown, his mom turns to him and says, "Did you not get the poor girl my hairdryer, Jonathan?" and Jonny looks suitably guilty in response.

His dad goes in for a hug and Jonny spots which dress she's wearing. It's the green one, the one from- yeah.

He swallows down the lump in his throat.

Wow.

Pulling back from his hug, his dad grabs Jonny's arm and yanks him in, squeezing him in for a side hug that kinda hurts Jonny's ribs but he stays quiet. He thinks his dad might be trying to tell him he's proud of him. Looking over at his mom, he sees she isn't faring much better than his dad − that's, yep, that's definitely a tear in the corner of her eye. And once David is done with his hug, 'hi, nice to meet you, I've heard a lot about you' introduction to Gemma, his dad shoves Jonny in her direction, ordering his son, "Go on, let's see you two together then."

 

 

+

 

 

All in all, dinner isn't nearly anything as awkward as Jonny imagined it would be.

 

 

+

 

 

He finds Gemma out in the backyard, sitting having a cigarette on one of the lawn chairs, next to the currently unused ice rink. Jonny gives her a sort of smile, a quick slant of his mouth as he sits down on the chair next to her, and says, "If my mom catches you, she may make me divorce you. I _am_ a professional athlete after all."

He immediately regrets even thinking about making the joke when Gemma shoots him that look.

"You sure we aren't getting a divorce anyway?" she asks, stubbing out the butt underneath her shoe, then kicking at the black mark on the patio until it fades a little.

Jonny isn't sure how to come back to that.

Gemma looks back up, the spot nearly almost gone, and continues, "Because- I'm not really sure what's going on right now with us. You don't talk to me for a month and then you decide to play happy families with me in front of your parents because, as far as I can tell, you haven't told them that you're a huge asshole who never returns my calls."

Now she's mad.

Jonny tries, "I-" but it doesn't go anywhere.

"Right." She sighs, loud and long, then says, "We can talk about it in the morning. I'm kinda tired." And she stands up.

Jonny goes with her because he has to change the sheets. His mom will kill him if he lets Gemma sleep on the dirty sheets he's been sleeping on for the past two weeks.

 

 

+

 

 

He wakes up to the sound of someone moving around the kitchen but the rest of the house is quiet. It's not until he's most of the way down the stairs that he works out his family are once more absent from the house and it's only Gemma in the kitchen, making herself a cup of tea.

He greets her with a small smile.

She hands him a cup of coffee. It's a nice gesture. Jonny feels like even more of an asshole. "I'm gonna go get dressed," she says, swiftly slipping from the room while he rummages in a press for cereal, the milk already out on the table. It turns out David has eaten all of the good granola, the one with the red berries, so Jonny settles for the honey and nut one that taste only marginally like shavings off a woodcutter's workshop floor.

When Gemma doesn't come back down − she never said she would, Jonny notes to himself − he heads back up to her, leaving his bowl and empty cup in the sink. If he doesn't get back to wash it before his mom gets back, there will be Hell to pay, but right now Jonny is willing to take that chance. Carefully, he pushes open his bedroom door to find Gemma glaring angrily down at a stain on her sweater, a blob of orange in the middle of the pale yellow. She sighs and looks up at him as Jonny closes the door behind him, stepping into the room.

"It's really not that noticeable," he lies.

Gemma rolls her eyes quickly before shrugging it off over her head and tossing it in the direction of her backpack.

"It'll do," she says, to herself more than Jonny, after she's tugged on a black sweater in its stead. Jonny stares at her for a second too long, his eyes lingering on the way her skin looks against the soft, black wool. He snaps out of it when she coughs.

He informs her, "You said you wanted to talk."

"I don't want to," she corrects, "I just think we should. Considering." And she gestures between them.

Jonny nods. "Alright. So-?"

"So," she repeats. If she's trying to mimic his voice, she isn't doing a very good job. Jonny doesn't tell her that though. "I come all the way to fucking Canada so we can talk about whatever the fuck issues you have going on right now and all you've got to say is 'so'?" Her sigh is more of a groan. "I just. I don't know what happened. And I was hoping you could explain it to me- because. If I've done something wrong, I'd like to know."

"You haven't."

She laughs, but it isn't funny. "Doesn't feel that way. You stopped talking to me for-"

"A month, I know," he finishes for her. "I needed some. I just needed some space." He stops, to watch her, to gauge her reaction. Gemma just stands there, her face blank, like she needs more from him to show any emotion back. "After I saw what you said − when you said that I made you happy and all that other stuff, I just- I didn't know what to do with that. Cos that wasn't part of our deal."

Gemma breaks in with, "What wasn't? Being happy. I'm pretty sure I agreed to marry you mostly based on the fact that you make me happy."

"I know. And you make me happy too."

She scoffs.

Jonny ignores it and goes on, "But when you said it. When you so plainly said it, I realised that. _Fuck_ , that it wasn't just about that for me anymore. That it was more for me. So, I thought that maybe if I took some space, if I went without seeing you for a while, without talking to you and hearing your laugh and _being around you_ , that I could go back to being just your friend again. Because we weren't meant to fall in love. That wasn't part of it. At least, it wasn't meant to be. For the record, it didn't work − when I saw you in the airport, I realised how much I missed you and that being away from you hadn't changed anything."

This time when Gemma laughs, the sound is bright and light, and Jonny watches her shoulders move with it, like her body is incapable of keeping it in. Despite himself, he has to smile at it. "You're a fucking idiot," she tells him.

Jonny sighs around a smile. "So people tell me."

"But, if it makes you feel any better, I'm the same. I- uh. It's the same for me too. I'm in love with you as well."

Jonny has always liked the fact Gemma awkwardly repeats herself when she's nervous.

Taking a step into her space, Jonny says, "We weren't meant to do this."

"Were we not? I don't remember that being explicitly stated anywhere." And Gemma steps towards him as well, closing the gap between them until he's able to pull her in with an arm around her waist. He breathes in her smell, nose pressed into her hair, and lets his hand ride down the curve of her back until he reaches the top of her ass, settling his palm there, solid, and keeping Gemma in place. "It's ok."

"Yeah," he agrees, kissing her hair.

Gemma places a kiss on his collarbone, above the neck of his t-shirt and Jonny just. Wants. He wants, as he angles his head down to her height − she _really is_ a lot smaller than she photographs − and leans in to kiss her. He wants but if she doesn't then he'll stop. He will. He will absolutely stop if Gemma doesn't want this because his barging got them into this mess − 'mess' isn't the right word but it's all Jonny has right now − and if she wants to take it slower and wait, that's ok, that's fine. But he still wants. And she isn't pushing him away, and he catches her jaw with the palm of his hand, stroking his thumb over her cheekbone softly, just 'hi', as she smiles and closes the last bit of space between them, sealing her mouth over his.

This is only the third time they've ever kissed one another, the number still low enough to count it as a new experience, but there's something familiar about it. Something soothing, like coming home, about the way Gemma pushes her mouth into his and how Jonny has to angle his head. How he holds her chin.

He doesn't mean to take it too far today, he just wanted to kiss her, but when his fingers slip under the hem of her sweater and bump bump bump along her skin, Jonny asks, "Can I?" against her mouth. Gemma laughs back at him because she literally just put it on, but she kisses a 'yes' into his lips and ok. Yeah, ok, nice to know they're on the same page here. Partly Jonny wants to stop for a second and ask her how long, how long she's been sitting on these feelings and how closely they match his own. But then Gemma kisses him again and he goes back to carefully removing her sweater. Her hair crackles with static as they pull it off together. Jonny leaves her to toss it somewhere over there while he kisses the freshly exposed skin of her shoulders.

He's seen them before, but not like this.

And he just wants to put his mouth everywhere.

His t-shirt is off before they get onto this bed. Jonny knows he had issues previously with having sex with Gemma in his bed, especially when his mom thought it was going to happen − and told his dad, who probably told David as well − but that was before. When he thought the option of them doing this was out of the question. Now that they're here though, well. It just seems the most sensible thing to do. . . That is, if Gemma wants to.

Jonny hesitates from a moment, one knee between Gemma's legs with his other foot on the floor. She looks up at him, the hints of a frown around her mouth and between her eyes.

"C'mere," she says, reaching up and hooking her hand around the back of his neck. Jonny goes easily.

 

 

+

 

 

He stutters, looking down at her. Gemma's boobs rise and fall as she breathes slowly, waiting for him to say something. Jonny's hips shift forward without his permission, his dick bumping over the crease of her thigh. "I don't have-" he begins, hoping he doesn't have to finish the sentence because _really_ , who keeps condoms at their parents house?

Gemma nods almost straight away. "That's ok," she says and Jonny shivers with it. "You can. I mean-"

"Are you sure?" and his voice only breaks a little.

She kisses him before answering, "Yeah, it's ok." Jonny shivers again, as her fingertips skid against his shoulder blade. They haven't talked about this; they haven't talked about anything, really, and Jonny wonders if maybe they should stop and consider this for a second, think it through properly. But Gemma's hand slips up his side, thumb stroking his nipple as it passes and Jonny feels like he's been sucker punched, the decision made for him. Her voice is small and she speaks into his neck as she goes, "I'm on the pill, if that helps."

Jonny laughs and turns her face to his, butts their noses together, and states, "If you're ok with it."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she whines softly back and that settles everything.

 

 

+

 

 

Before he lets Gemma into the bathroom with him, Jonny locks David's door into the room, because nothing kills a mood more than your younger brother strolling into the bathroom for a piss while you're showering with your wife.

 

 

+

 

 

Jonny wakes up with his mouth pressed to Gemma's bare shoulder as David yells from the other side of the door, "Jonathan, open the bathroom door now or I'm coming in there and using your side." He follows it with a loud bang of his fist against the wood. Jonny groans and in front of him, Gemma shifts.

"Go," she sighs, voice sleep thick and gravelly.

According to the clock on the chest of drawers beside her it's after one in the afternoon. He doesn't particularly want to move, would much rather stay with the press of Gemma's naked back against his chest and his cheek on the still damp pillow, cool from her wet hair earlier. But they have about two seconds before David comes in, his knocking is still insistent, and with a sigh, Jonny sits up and heads for the door.

He barely opens it, just enough to stick his face out and frown at his younger brother.

"I don't care or really want to know," David supplies. "But I have to pee and Dad's in the other bathroom."

There's a weird rule in the Toews household that neither of the boys are allowed use their parents' en suite. Jonny doesn't bother asking why their dad's in the main bathroom, he quickly tells David, "I'll open it now, gimme a sec."

Just before Jonny closes the door, David shouts into the room, "Hi Gemma!"

She laughs out a 'hi David!' back, Jonny glaring at her like 'traitor traitor traitor' as he heads into the bathroom. The lock clicks open obnoxiously loud and David barely waits for Jonny to get out of the way before he's unzipping himself, telling his brother, "Thanks, man, I've been holding this for a while."

Jonny hopes his noise of disgust isn't too rude. Then again, David never seems to care.

To the sound of his brother peeing, Jonny gets back into bed beside Gemma. She rolls over as he shifts under the covers, reaching for him and letting him settle in against her. She's warm and soft next to him and Jonny hums contentedly. "He's still going," Gemma points out, a second or two later, making Jonny frown and open his eyes, distracting himself from thinking about his brother taking a piss by kissing Gemma's skin. "Seriously," she continues, "I did not know the human bladder could hold that much fluid."

"That's just David," he replies, kissing her again right after.

From the other side of the door, David informs them, "I _can_ hear you."

"I'm impressed," Gemma says, sounding genuine.

Jonny hears the smile in David's voice when he throws back, "Thanks," alongside the noises of the tap starting up. He says, "By the way, lunch is in ten minutes, so you might want to get up." Then, "Oh, and Mom found your bowl steeping in the sink."

Jonny hisses.

"Fuck," he says.

Gemma strokes her fingers through his hair and lets a laugh out. Jonny listens to it rumble fully through her chest before he begins to move again. "C'mon," he urges, sitting up straight once more. "You've got lunch with the in-laws."

Without any hesitance, Gemma replies, "They love me."

Jonny has to agree.

 

 

 

 

**_E P I L O G U E_ **

The cameras work out Gemma is there before Jonny knows. They catch her in the crowd, pausing on her − completely ignoring Zayn fucking Malik sitting beside her − as she watches the game. As she leaning in to say something to the person on her right, her face appears up on the big screen and Seabs nudges Jonny as they sit on the side together.

Jonny lifts his head from staring at his skate, prodding it with the tip of his stick, and goes, "What?"

"Look up."

With a frown, since Seabs playing games during a game is one of Jonny's least favourite things, Jonny looks up at the big screen. And spots her. Actually, he spots Zayn first, since Gemma's head is angled towards him, unknowingly only giving her profile to the camera, and a smile breaks across Jonny's face.

Seabs asks, "Did you forget she was coming?"

"No," and Jonny flushes. He didn't forget; she didn't tell him she was. He's still beaming when the cameras cut over to him cos what better way to follow a shot of Gemma Arterton sitting in the crowd − with Zayn Malik, why has no one mentioned that yet? − than with a shot of Jonathan Toews reacting to his wife being in the crowd? He gives them a second before closing his eyes and lowering his head, Seabs laughing the entire time because that's just how good of a friend Brent Seabrook is.

Pierre catches up to him as Jonny's heading for the showers, his face red and sweaty and the marks from his helmet making super attractive parallel lines across his forehead. He worries his hair is sticking up at the back but, pffft, Jonny knows he has looked worse on camera.

It's the usual rapport about the game and how they played and how Jonny feels this season is going to play out − they're gonna win this year, because Jonny's got a wife who will only remain married to him if he wins her a Stanley Cup; Jonny only tells Pierre the first half of this though − until Pierre, who is first and foremost a journalist and all of them are wired the same way, throws Jonny a curveball and asks about Gemma.

"Yeah," Jonny grins, and out of the corner of his eye he spots Sharpy settling in to see what he says. Whatever he says, he's never going to live it down; the guys all take great pleasure in telling him he has a 'goofy Gemma face', one he wears every time he talks about her. Jonny just goes for it. "It's nice to see her out there." He wants to say 'with Zayn Malik' but manages to keep it in. "Last time I was talking to her, she was in Moscow. That was last night so- she must have got on a flight just to come and see me- us play our opening game. Which is incredible to think about. Weird. But incredible, that she took time out of her schedule and filming just to be here."

Pierre smiles.

Jonny feels like he's talking to his grandpa about his newest girlfriend. It's weird. He's not sure he likes it but Pierre has him trapped.

"And that means a lot to you?" he asks.

Jonny wipes a hand over his brow, collecting sweat. Gross. "Of course it does. It means a hell of a lot to me that Gemma's here and I just love her- I love her for it."

It takes him a second to realise what he's just said. To Pierre McGuire.

He looks over at Sharpy, who has pulled Kaner over to stand beside him, and is doing nothing to hide his gleeful cackle, so loud that even Pierre's mic has picked it up across the room. Jonny can't decide if this is better or worse than the time he said 'fuck' on national television; he's definitely going to get chirped more about this.

Thankfully, Pierre lets him go and Jonny hides out in the showers until more than half the team has packed up and gone.

Gemma − and Zayn, wearing an LA Kings snapback Jonny hadn't noticed before, really Malik, _really_? − is waiting for him outside the locker room, leaning against a wall and laughing at something Shawzy is saying to her. Seabs nods at Jonny as he approaches, Dayna smiling too. Slipping into her space, an arm around Gemma's waist and a quick nuzzle of her hair, Jonny goes, "Nice to see you."

"You too," she agrees, letting herself get pulled in for a proper hug. "Nice to see you win too − last time I watched a Blackhawks game, you lost."

Jonny groans.

He returns, "I know, I know."

Slowly, the group − Seabs and Dayna, Crow, Shawzy, Zayn and his LA Kings snapback − start to move towards the car park; Jonny holds back a little, so it's just him and Gemma. She slips a hand into his back pocket and the rhythm of their footsteps line up. "So," he says, because that's the only appropriate way to broach a subject like this. Gemma tilts her head up to look at him as he speaks. "I may have told Pierre McGuire on live television that I love you."

She laughs.

"Well done, I'm glad America now knows," she replies. Jonny hip checks her, even though it doesn't really do anything. "I've got an interview in a month with Idris on Ellen, so I'll be sure to tell her and everyone watching then. So that they know the feeling's mutual."

"Shut up," Jonny sighs.

And kisses Gemma's hair as they follow along behind the others.

 

 

**_T H E  E N D_ **

**Author's Note:**

> next in random rpf pairings, let's talk about tyler seguin/zayn malik as a sequel to this. (i'm not sorry.)


End file.
